


Syncretism

by NeverwinterThistle



Category: Far Cry 4
Genre: Animal Sacrifice, Full Game Spoilers, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Post-Sabal Victory, Religion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-03-19 10:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 104,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3606036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/pseuds/NeverwinterThistle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Ajay Ghale, son of Mohan Ghale," Sabal announces. He reaches for Ajay's hand, lifting it above both their heads. His palm is slippery with goat's blood. "There's no one I'd rather have at my back, and no one who deserves this honour more. I name him my second, my right hand man, and Lieutenant-General to the Kyrati Army."</i><br/>After the war comes the cleansing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Victories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spacehussy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehussy/gifts).



> __[Noun](http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/syncretism?s=t)  
>  1\. the attempted reconciliation or union of different or opposing principles, practices, or parties, as in philosophy or religion.

It's a full moon, and Jalendu Temple is lit in fire. Lanterns, candles, campfires seem to outnumber the stars themselves; impressive, given the island's size. There isn't a square inch of unclaimed ground to be seen. Looks like half the country made an appearance.

Ajay picks his way through people and tries not to stand on any errant fingers. Distracted, he hears a few yelps of pain in the dark. Ignores them. He's got places to be.

Bhadra sits at the top of the stairs, the only unoccupied space in sight. The lanterns throw shadows across her face, the smoke blurs her features out of focus. She looks like a little doll. Clings to her gold on gold finery, moving her head with an artificial grace that she can't pull off and wasn't shown how to. She doesn't look like a goddess. Costumed up as she is, the poor kid doesn't even look like a girl. She moves like an automaton in a museum display, raising a stiff hand to wave at irregular intervals.

She's been there all day.

"Hey, you," Ajay says at the top of the stairs. He moves to the side where he won't block people's view, turning his face away so it falls into shadow. "How're you holding up? You want anything? Water? Something to eat?"

"I can't," she whispers. Lips barely moving. Her smile is painted on, smeared across her mouth like drying blood. "If I drink, I'll have to... _go_. You know. I'm not allowed to leave, it's a bad omen."

"Nobody's going to mind if you have to take a trip to the ladies' room," Ajay tells her. "What, is it the outfit? Looks kind of...awkward, sure. But we've got a lot of Golden Path people around here, we can find you some women to help out. It's no big deal."

" _No_ , Ajay. I have to stay. People have to see me, it's important."

The makeup distorts her expression; the smoke stings his eyes. It's hard to know what Bhadra's thinking behind it all, but her voice has a sharp, high edge to it he doesn't like and doesn't want to hear. Ajay rests his hand on the edge of the...palanquin, exhibit display, whatever it is she's sitting in. Red velvet cushioning, so at least she's not too uncomfortable. After a moment, she inches her hand over to rest it next to his.

"Bhadra," he says gently. "When did you last eat? Drink? Please tell me people are bringing you water."

"I'm meant to be _pure_ ," she whispers back. "I'm fasting. The priests, they...cleansed me, and they said I had to stay pure until the ceremonies are finished. Otherwise Banashur won't give Kyrat his blessing, and we'll all fall back into darkness and war."

"You have _got_ to be fu- uh, kidding me. You were here when I arrived, you've literally been here all day. It's, what, about ten thirty? Did you have breakfast?"

"I spent the night in fasting and prayer. And then they cleansed me. Ajay, I can't. Banashur will be offended."

"No, hey, no he won't," Ajay says flatly. And he can place the strangeness in her voice now; sounds like hysteria, like she's a scared little girl with smoke in her face and people keep staring at her and she hasn't had any food in at least twenty four hours by his count. "He'll understand completely. This is insane. You're a kid, you can't go that long without eating."

She touches his hand. Small fingers, roughened from work and the archery she never really learnt; her hands are half the size of his. In the dark she looks almost skeletal. Maybe it's just the makeup.

"I'm not a kid," she tells him, and he has to bite back the obvious response because she's upset enough as it is. "I'm Tarun Matara. I'm a living goddess now. So I have to fast, and I have to be pure, and I have to bring Banashur's blessings down on Kyrat so we can all have a future without suffering. That's my job now. And if I don't do it properly..." she trails off.

He's not sure he wants to know how she was going to finish.

They washed the blood away this morning, as best as they could. Doused the sodden dirt and grass in buckets of lake water until the mud was more brown than red; piled the bodies into a boat and sent it off who knows where. Bhadra started her day with executions, and Ajay with cleanup duty. All he wants now is for it to be over.

"When do you get to stop?" he asks.

"Midnight. It's not too long now, I'll be okay."

"You want me to stay here?" The official guards won't like it, but they're welcome to go fuck themselves. And they won't say anything anyway. Not to Ajay. There's only one person around with the spine to do to that, and he's somewhere inside the temple. Turns out the blessings required to make someone regent are almost as complicated as the ones to elect a new Tarun Matara. Only, he doubts they include a full day of fasting. Or being dressed up like a little mannequin and left alone for people to stare at. Nobody else will even _talk_ to Bhadra. "I can stay. Keep you company until midnight, how about that?"

"You're needed inside the temple soon," Bhadra replies. "All the highest ranking Golden Path members are."

"Yeah, well, I'm not actually high ranking. I don't even have one of the uniforms. You watch, I'll skip whatever it is and nobody'll notice."

She actually turns her head at that, a stiff little movement that lets her throw him a horrified look from the corner of her eye. " _Ajay,_ what are you talking about? You can't skip it, Sabal's making you his right-hand man!"

"He's what now?"

"Didn't anyone say? Someone was meant to have told you, I heard him asking them to pass the message on to you hours ago!"

"Uh, nope," Ajay says. His chest tightens; he throws a glance in the direction of the temple, lit up like a burning Christmas tree. All the important stuff's happening below ground. Out of sight of the general public. One of the guards at the entrance catches his eye and nods to him. Ajay nods back, forcing a smile. "But it's probably not urgent yet, right? I've been around all day, he knows how to find me."

"I'm sorry Ajay," Bhadra says miserably. "You were supposed to have been told, so you could spend the day in prayer and contemplation-"

He interrupts as gently as he can. "Hey, relax. If Sabal wants me as second in command, then he knows what he's getting himself into. I'm not one of the faithful. You think he _wants_ me praying to someone I don't believe in? Pretty sure that's worse than not praying at all. It's fine, Bhadra. Nothing's ruined, don't stress."

"Okay. If you're sure." The edge isn't gone from her tone, and it's started to scare him a little. Ajay peers through the smoke, the dancing shadows cast like soot across Bhadra's face. And yeah, her eyes are too bright. She blinks rapidly. Her smile trembles.

 _Oh shit,_ he thinks. "Don't be upset," he says. "The day's almost over, then we'll make sure you get dinner and some sleep. You'll be fine in the morning."

"Go find out what's going on." She takes her hand off his. It's only now he notices that she was clinging to his wrist. "The guards might be able to tell you, or someone in the temple will."

"Aren't you bored?" Ajay asks, and sees her shoulders hunch up a little.

"No! I'm bringing blessings down for my people, it's sacred work." She slumps, fisting a hand into the skirt pooled around her waist. And then relaxing her fingers with deliberate care. "But it's better now it's dark. I can always look at the stars. That's nice."

"You're doing amazing," Ajay tells her. "Everyone down there thinks so. _I_ think so. And you'll be done soon, you've only got about an hour until midnight."

"Thank you Ajay," she whispers, and then she's back in full automaton mode, tilting her head stiffly and raising a hand to someone in the crowd. Painted smile held in place. One of her cheeks shines in the lantern-light, but there's nobody standing close enough to see.

 _Does Sabal know about this?_ Ajay wonders, turning towards the temple. _Please tell me he doesn't. Tell me he just got...caught up in the preparations and hasn't had time to come check on her. Kind of like he apparently forgot all about me._ He gets to the mouth of Jalendu Temple and pauses in front of the guards. Realises he's waiting to be turned away.

"Hey, Ajay, good to see you," one of them says. "You heading down now? Good time for it, you don't want to be late."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, right. Sorry, I got a little caught up in the crowds."

"It's crazy," says the other guard, shaking her head. "People just keep showing up. There's no room! Whose idea was it to have all these ceremonies on the smallest island in Kyrat?"

"Hell if I know. Thanks guys, I'll see you later."

"Sure. Bye, Ajay!"

He makes his way down the stairs, down the twisting, torch-lit corridor he barely recognises, though he was last here less than a week ago. He remembers it as a mess of rubble and rot, moss in the crevices, boxes and empty ammo shell casings strewn across the floor. That's all gone now; the clean-up effort must have taken forever. He wonders if the priests did that. If it got _delegated_ instead.

The air is heavy, a cloying mix of incense and smoke and waterweeds they didn't completely clear out of the pools. Ajay steps into the main room and squints for anyone he recognises. He wants to cover his mouth. Has a feeling that might not be allowed down here.

Everyone's a stranger in the dim light; in the end he picks the nearest guy in Golden Path blue and approaches him. "Hey," he starts, "Have you seen-"

"Looking for Sabal?" the guy asks, and Ajay gives him a stiff nod. "Sure, sure, straight down the main path, take a right then a left. Go on in, he's allowed visitors now."

"Uh...thanks."

Ajay makes his way down the centre of the room. It's been done up since he was last here, but then he didn't exactly stop to do any sightseeing. Hard to appreciate aesthetics when people were trying to set him on fire. But he's pretty sure the candles floating in the still, stagnant pools are a new addition, as are the miles of fabric draped from every wall. There are flowers fucking _everywhere_ ; what would they have done if Bhadra got hay fever? Allergies? Did anyone even ask?

He has a feeling he'd be enjoying the spectacle a lot more if it wasn't so...fake. Forced. And maybe he's just cynical; maybe he could stand to open his mind a little more, absorb some of the local culture. But he keeps going back to the scared little girl upstairs, who started her day as the witness to six murders, and then had to sit there like some kind of zoo exhibit while people gawked. Too scared to even ask for water.

 _If Sabal knew about that,_ Ajay thinks, taking a right as directed. _I swear to....Kyra. I'm going to give him an earful._

He takes the left, through the smooth golden doors and into Jalendu Temple's _inner sanctum_. A first for him; last time they were closed, barred against the greed of Pagan's soldiers. One of the holiest places in Kyrat, or so he's told. Bhadra spent the night here. She'll do so again before they let her leave in the morning. Stands to reason it would be pretty spectacular.

 _I guess I'm getting jaded,_ Ajay thinks. _It's not even that great. The Sleeping Saints were a lot more impressive_.

It's just another temple, in the end. One more looming Kyra statue, stone face blank and distant. Candles, incense, drapery. And he wouldn't call it gaudy, not really, because what the hell does he know anyway. But it's gloomy; feels cramped. No natural light, and the torchlight dances on the carved walls like the lamp bulbs did in Durgesh. The stone seems to move, shifting eerily in front of his eyes. The carved people's faces range in expression from demonic to grotesque.

Probably just the incense fumes. Ajay steps into the room and spots Sabal on his knees in front of the statue.

He hesitates.

They haven't...talked. Since this morning, where arguably they didn't talk at all; it's not a conversation if you only get two words in. And he gets it- yeah, he fucked up. Didn't need the four different people coming up to him at various stages throughout the day to explain things, though it might have been nice if Sabal himself had decided to try. If he'd found a moment or two to expand on what the hell he thought he was doing, executing a whole bunch of people in front of a kid barely into her teens.

But he gets it. This country's all about power; who has it, who wants it, who can't afford to lose it. And Ajay's seen how people look at him. _Son of Mohan_. He's the unknown factor here. The dark horse with the golden name. People are starting to click to the fact that he's been winning most of their victories alone; if Kyrat is free, it's because he made it that way. Paul, Noore, Yuma, Pagan. Amita. He went and turned himself into a living legend for these people.

No wonder Sabal started feeling threatened.

"Hey," Ajay says when Sabal doesn't show any sign of having heard him arrive. Because if it's a test, a contest of patience, he knows which one of them will lose out.

Sabal once spent three days at his bedside. Praying, until Ajay woke. Calling, until Ajay heard. Patience is something he's very good at.

That was a while ago. A conversation they left half-finished and never went back to; the whole encounter fogged with confusion, _everything hurts and I don't know where I am_. _Please don't go._ They've never talked about it. And every time they never do, he feels a little less sure of what he remembers.

But that's irrelevant just now.

"I was told I'd find you here," Ajay says, and approaches the statue.

At its base, Sabal stretches slowly. Winces as something in his spine cracks. And it's strange seeing him out of his usual denim jacket, without a rifle slung over his shoulder. The rich, embroidered tunic is...a change. But not a bad one. "Ajay? Thank Kyra, I was starting to worry. Where have you been?" He turns; his eyes widen a little. "Why aren't you ready?"

"Uh. Ready for what, exactly? Because so far all I know is what Bhadra- what the Tarun Matara told me, which was that I should come find you."

"I sent you a message-"

"Guess your guy couldn't find me," Ajay says flatly. "I'm not sure how; I've been around all day. Trying to get a couple of thousand people settled outside without anyone murdering anyone else. We can't have unsanctioned murders on holy ground, that would be a really shitty omen for the future."

Sabal swears under his breath. He stands, leaning on the base of the statue for support and stretching his legs out slowly. His expression is grim. "Politics; I might have known. _Dammit._ I'd have come to find you myself, but I've been confined to the temple since noon." If he has anything to say about the _executions_ , he keeps it to himself. Doesn't bother to acknowledge Ajay's barbed little comment.

 _Fuck you,_ Ajay thinks. _After everything I've done_. "Ceremonies, huh? That must have been really terrible for you."

He watches Sabal's eyes sharpen; shards of unforgiving gemstone. And that's more like it. That's more the man who stared him down this morning.

"Are you finished, brother?" he asks coldly. "Will you feel better if you air your grievances out now? Kyra's watching, she'll judge them on their merits. Go ahead. Let's hear it."

"You murdered those people."

"I did to them what Amita would have done to me and mine, if she'd been given the chance. Her, or Pagan. Doesn't matter which; they were practically the same person by the end." Sabal folds his arms. "Call it whatever suits you, but the fact remains: those people were loyal to Amita alone. Not the Golden Path. Not _Kyrat_. Left alive, they'd have caused problems. I did what had to be done."

"In front of _Bhadra_."

"I've given you my answer to that already. I'm not repeating myself."

"Then why are we even doing this?" Ajay asks. And he hates that he sounds more hurt than angry. But that's just how he is. "If I'm...If I'm worth _that little_ to you. If you're done with me, and you'd rather I took the hint and got out of your way-"

" _Ajay_ ," Sabal says. "Brother, that's enough, you're talking nonsense. Of course I value you; you're Mohan's son, you single-handedly defeated Pagan and his generals, you're practically Kalinag reborn if the gossip is to be believed. Your voice has weight where our people are concerned."

"But you don't want me talking, do you? You just want me to stand behind you and remind people who I supported for Golden Path leader. A cardboard cutout would do the job better, why not get one of those?"

And suddenly, inexplicably, Sabal smiles. "Probably. But I confess, it wouldn't be the same; I'd miss you. It's not a cardboard cutout I want for my second in command."

 _Shit_. There's a headache forming inside his skull; Ajay holds still, doesn't let himself rub at his temples, the bridge of his nose. As if Sabal needs any more indication of just how unhappy he is right now. Angry, betrayed...disappointed, for reasons he hasn't really sorted out yet. Confused most of all: none of this makes sense. Who threatens a guy in the morning and then promotes him that same day?

"What do you need me to do?" Ajay asks wearily. "Please tell me it doesn't involve public speaking."

Sabal shakes his head. "No, I've got you covered there. All you need to do is stand at my back and smile when I name you my second. After everything you've done...nobody's going to be surprised. We as a country owe you more than we can ever hope to repay. I want to make sure you're present for the big decisions, for the meetings that will shape the direction we take Kyrat from now on."

"And what happens when I don't agree with you one hundred percent of the time?" Ajay asks. "You planning on shutting me down every time? Because what you did this morning, that was a dick move. And I'm not letting that go easy. I can't. You scared the shit out of me."

"I don't expect your agreement on everything, brother. Yes, we will find ourselves at odds sometimes. That's only natural. And if you raise your concerns in private, I can promise you a fair hearing and an explanation of my position on the issue that bothers you."

"And if I _don't_?"

"Then, Sabal says flatly, "You need to accept that I'll react as the situation requires me to. I've spent my whole life fighting for this, Ajay. Given up so much that I valued, for the sake of continuing your father's legacy. For his vision of Kyrat. And I'm sorry; I know I've come across a little cold to you recently. You look at me and wonder if you've raised a dictator to power. Am I right?"

Ajay lifts his chin and doesn't say anything. He's not sure what he _could_ say at this stage. But Sabal looks at him, long and careful, and nods.

"Yes," he says. "You do. It's a shame; I'd hoped by now you might trust me a little more."

"I _do_ ," Ajay tells him. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he realises it's true. After everything. "That's why this...what happened this morning, that's why it's _messing me up_. I do trust you. But those people weren't doing anything, they couldn't even fight back-"

Sabal holds up a hand, and Ajay stops. It's a simple thing. Simplest thing in the world, when it's a habit he's fallen into over the space of months. Right from the start. He knew so little about the country when he first arrived. Lonely Planet doesn't do a guide to Kyrat; if they did, it would consist of a photo of the India-Kyrat border (men with guns, with sharp-cut uniforms and uniform scowls) and a single page description:

_Don't fucking do it._

He didn't know how things worked, and it was so, _so_ easy to let Sabal take charge. Follow his lead, shadow his footsteps, let him be the voice for both of them. Sabal says, _stop_ and Ajay says, _sure, sorry_. _Next time I'll know better._

"Trust me," Sabal says, and Ajay thinks, _okay_. "Know that whatever happens, however things may seem to you, I'm only ever doing what's necessary for Kyrat. There will be more executions; you won't like it, and I won't make you attend. Of course I won't. I'm not actually a monster."

"But you'll execute people anyway," Ajay says.

"It's the will of Kyra, brother. We'll cleanse her country; start anew and learn from our past mistakes. This is how things have to be."

 _Oh my god,_ Ajay thinks, and the pressure of meeting Sabal's eyes is just too much for him. He looks up at the Kyra statue instead. Thinks, _or rather, not my god. Yours. How come you couldn't have picked someone a little more..chill? Why is it rivers of blood instead of hugs and world peace?_

That's a little hypocritical of him, maybe; he's hurt a lot of people in the last few months. Killed a lot, maimed a lot, fucking _ruined_ a lot of lives. That's a high price to pay for wearing the wrong colour uniform.

If the rivers run red, it's because he brought a flood down upon them.

He turns back to Sabal; finds him waiting, fraying patience giving way to something sharper. But he's waiting, still. That has to mean something.

"Okay," Ajay says quietly. "You...said something about getting ready? Am I supposed to wear-" he gestures at Sabal, at the formal, unfamiliar clothes he wears as easily as he does denim. "I'm, uh, not really sure what I'm doing."

Sabal closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, the sharpness is gone. He touches Ajay's shoulder; squeezes when Ajay doesn't pull away. "Nothing to worry about: I had clothing made for you at the same time as mine. First room on your left from here, you'll find it already laid out. Hurry, will you? We're running late as it is. That's not your fault, and it's hardly the first ceremony to go overtime, but it doesn't do to keep the gods waiting."

"Or Bhadra," Ajay says. "Did you know she hasn't-"

"The _Tarun Matara_ ," Sabal corrects gently. "She's shed her old self, and it's time you did too. Go on. We're heading up soon. I have a speech I should be rehearsing."

"Sure." _Dismissed_. He heads for the door of the disappointing temple, and doesn't look too closely at the strange carvings on the walls. Some of this stuff is more than he's ready to deal with just now.

He gets as far as the golden doors before Sabal calls after him. "Ajay?"

"Hmm?" Ajay turns, finding Sabal still by the foot of the Kyra statue. He toys with the prayer beads around his wrist.

"How many people, exactly?" He nods towards the ceiling, the heavy stone. "I knew we'd draw a crowd with this ceremony, but given the attack on Utkarsh..."

"I don't know," Ajay says. "Might be a thousand. More. The island's _packed_ , we've even got people hanging out in boats by the shore."

"Wonderful," Sabal says, while his tone says something completely different. "Kyra help us all."

He turns away, lips already moving, twisting the prayer beads compulsively. And Ajay thinks, _oh. Check it out, he's got stage fright. Leader of the Golden Path, soon to be regent of Kyrat. Making the biggest speech of his life in front of maybe the biggest crowd of people he's ever seen. And he's freaking out a little._

 _You'll be fine_. _You look great, same as always_ , Ajay wants to say. But he's still pissed, still sore about this morning, about Bhadra stuck upstairs without water. So he keeps his mouth shut and the encouragement dies unsaid.

Fifteen minutes later find him in the main room of Jaledu's lower temple, murky pools and floating candles and incense coating the inside of his lungs. Standing stiff in unfamiliar clothes that feel too much like costume pieces. And it's too late to complain now, but he feels...out of place. Like he wandered into someone else's wedding and all the other guests are just assuming he should be there. Like nobody's noticed he doesn't belong.

At least he's not the only one shifting his weight from foot to foot and glancing around for backup. Ajay sees faces he knows; he's pretty familiar with Sabal's closest people by now. Shares a smile with some, a wince with others. Ignores the ones that won't acknowledge him and never have. They're a mismatched group, altogether, in their bright colours and restless chatter. They miss their blue and gold, their easy informality. They miss their guns.

Sabal himself is separate from his soldiers. He stands at the foot of the stairs, hands clasped tight behind his back, and doesn't acknowledge the noise filtering down from outside. He's like a statue of himself - which just goes to show that he's still mid-crisis, because he _shouldn't be_ _like this_. That's not who he is. He should be right in the middle of the chaos, touching shoulders and joking about stage fright.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm freaking out a little," Ajay says in an undertone. "Sounds like we've got crowd up there."

"I'm fine," Sabal replies. He doesn't look at Ajay. Doesn't look at anything but the stairs, the sliver of night sky barely visible at the top of them. Stars. Nice night for a coronation. "I've waited a long time for this, and it's...an honour. Truly."

Made bold by the surrounding chatter, the nervous jitters they're all suffering, Ajay says, "You're looking kind of like you might be about to panic. Just...breathe, okay? We've got your back."

"Thanks," Sabal says; he rolls his shoulders, stands a little looser. Breathes in deep and looks a little better for it. "Ajay, I-"

"We're ready for you," says one of the...priests, holy men, whatever it is they're called here. He comes down the steps just far enough that they can see him. Beckons. It's such a peremptory gesture that Ajay finds himself twitching, wanting to correct him. Wanting to point out that after everything they've done for the country, they deserve a little more respect. But Sabal just nods; his people fall silent. Fall into a semi-formal arrangement behind him, something vaguely militaristic from soldiers who grasp substance but not form.

Ajay finds himself gently ushered to a place at Sabal's right shoulder. He goes with it, looking to Sabal for guidance - but there's no time, and then they're being ushered up the steps. Out in front of the crowd.

" _In the beginning, Banashur, god of gods, sung the world into being. The song was just sound and energy, like the ringing of a bell_." From above them comes a chime, echoing long across the lake. " _Brief and beautiful, we are like the bell; we are the bell, and so in living we give our thanks to Banashur, who made us. We thank the gods for giving us life._ "

The last line bounces back, repeated by the watching crowd. The priest continues.

" _When the Great Drought came, we sang our prayers to Banashur, and begged for deliverance from our suffering. Merciful god Banashur, he heard us. The first Tarun Matara was Banashur's gift; she was one with this land and its people, and her prayers were spoken into the ears of the gods themselves. She rang the first sacred bell. She prayed, and the waters came. The drought was broken. We thank the gods for washing away our sorrows. We thank the Tarun Matara, who speaks for us when our voices falter. Praise to Kyra and Banashur._

"Praise to Kyra and Banashur," says a small voice, muffled in her silk and velvet, smothered in lantern smoke. Several people cheer. Ajay isn't one of them.

"We are at war," says the priest, and the crowd's noise cools down to a simmer. "Most of us were born at war, born to a land where crops are watered with blood and our lives are governed by fear. Our bells are silent. We have forgotten how to pray. The Great Drought is come once more, and with it the Tarun Matara. She will speak to the gods, for those of us who don't know how. She will bring us peace."

 _That's a lot to ask of a thirteen-year old,_ Ajay thinks. _Sure you don't want to start small first? Let's get her to do her homework first. Then chores, dinner, and maybe after that she can do some divine interceding. So long as she's in bed by nine._

Their little procession stops by Bhadra's palanquin, the Golden Path soldiers fanning out at Sabal's back. Ajay stays right at his shoulder. It puts him next to Bhadra; he glances over without turning his head, and finds her staring straight blankly into the crowd. Her hands are clenched in her skirts. She's trembling.

 _It's almost finished,_ he thinks, wishing he could lean over and say it. _Just a little longer and then we'll get you fed, get you something to drink. And you can sleep. Anyone who tries to stop you will have to get through me first._

"This war is costly," says the priest. "It has taken many things from us; lives, possessions, land. Dignity. It almost took our faith. It took our royal family, decades ago, a blow from which we have never recovered. Once we would have looked to a king for guidance. Now we look to the Tarun Matara. And though she would happily give us any aid she can spare, her sacred duties must take priority, and so. I stand before you tonight, with my brothers of the faith; before the gods and the children of the gods, we nominate a regent. A man to shoulder those burdens that would stain our Tarun Matara. A man to lead, and to listen; a man who carries in him Kyra's light, and who will bring it down the mountain to our people."

Sabal steps forward. This time the crowd cheers loud, united; Ajay winces at the noise. Another glance at Bhadra shows him she's feeling pretty much the same. And he wants to say something, maybe mutter some encouragement, but he follows her gaze, looks out into the crowd and it's...

These people are burning. They're _alive_ , all of them, fists in the air and screaming until their lungs have to hurt. He can't make out any individual voices; the sound swells up, and he catches harmonies, common themes in the mass. _Tarun Matara_ and _We thank the gods_. _Kyra, Banashur_ and above it all, _Sabal_. _Sabal_. _Sabal._

He almost steps back. He would, if he wasn't packed in on three sides with nowhere to move but ahead. Into the crowd. Ajay holds still.

Cool night, but his palms are suddenly damp with sweat.

The priest speaks up again. "We prayed to Kyra for guidance, and she answered us with a leader. Sabal, whose wisdom and bravery saw the Golden Path to success over an evil we had thought to be insurmountable. Kyrat is free, and he has broken the chains that bound us. Pagan Min and his demon-henchmen are defeated, and we give thanks to Sabal for the victory. Kyra and Banashur bless this man. It is without hesitation that we offer him the role of regent. Sabal, leader of the Golden Path. Do you accept this sacred duty?"

"I do." Sabal bows low, to the priests, the crowd, to Bhadra.

 _Huh_ , Ajay thinks. _So he's the one who took kidnapped De Pleur? He went after Noore and watched her die in the arena when he couldn't save her? He's the one who got fucked up on the shrooms from hell and fought Yuma in the middle of a mine?_

He wonders what Sabal will say if they straight up ask him to confirm that Pagan is dead. Things could get awkward. Might be interesting to see. A small, vindictive part of him almost hopes it happens, just so Sabal will have to admit he was nowhere _near_ the palace at the time. It's not like anyone found a body. Surely that's worth a question or two.

No such luck.

"Make your vows to the Tarun Matara. She will judge their worth, and through her the gods will speak and accept you, if you are found worthy."

Sabal follows the priest, who leads him to Bhadra's palanquin and gestures; he kneels as directed. Doesn't look at Ajay as he passes, but that's understandable. Every eye in the crowd is on him right now. He can't afford to fuck anything up.

He's expecting Bhadra to speak, but it's another priest who steps forward. "Sabal. Do you swear to uphold the sacred traditions and preserve Kyrat's culture against future attack? Will you work to restore the damage that has been done to our holy ground?"

"I do. I will." Sabal's head is bowed. It's not clear who he's making the vow _to_ , but it doesn't seem to be Bhadra.

She doesn't seem to have any part in this at all. Nobody's looking at her, to her, and Ajay has a feeling she wasn't given much input in these 'vows', if she even had any at all. She's just...sitting there. They could have replaced her with one of the stone Kyra statues and it would have achieved pretty much the same thing.

"Do you swear to offer selfless servitude to the gods and the Tarun Matara?"

"I do."

"Is your loyalty to the gods unquestioning?

"It is."

"And is your faith unwavering, as enduring and unshaken as the mountains themselves?"

Sabal shifts slightly. And Ajay has to wonder if he's the only one who sees the muscle twitch in his cheek. "It is," he replies, before the silence can become noticeable.

 _Saw that_ , Ajay thinks, only he's not sure what _that_ is. Something to remember. Something important.

He's distracted by the priest that comes forward (they're everywhere, now he looks, now he actually tries to count; standing on the steps, in the crowd, behind Bhadra's palanquin. Where did they come from? The back of his neck tingles, and for the first time he regrets leaving his weapons in the temple). The man has something in his hands; he steps into the light and Ajay tenses. His eyes dart to Sabal, still kneeling in front of Bhadra.

From behind him comes a high, terrified sound. Ajay turns. He feels the other Golden Path soldiers next to him doing the same, and it's a relief to know he's not the only one who wasn't briefed on what to expect. He sees hands reach for weapons they're not carrying. Fists clenching in the absence of cold metal. But it's not necessary; this isn't an attack.

The goat bleats again, fighting the two priests who drag it by its horns out in front of the crowd. Over to the palanquin, where Sabal knees and Bhadra watches with a blank face and wide eyes. The priest with the ornate kukri in his hands moves to loom over the frightened animal.

"Yalung, the great demon, resides in all people," he says. Intones it, the words weighing heavy like stones. "He brings false promise and burns hope. Let this creature be the vessel for your doubts. Give unto it your fear, your hesitation. Cleanse yourself; the regent has no place for such things. The goat dies, and takes your weakness with it to Yalung."

Sabal grabs one of the goat's horns; the priest seizes the other. Between them they wrench the animal's head back. It fights them. Fights for its life, and it takes the two of them to keep it in place. Sabal's expression is grim. Focused. He looks at the goat the way he did Amita's loyalists this morning. Hatred; frightening in intensity.

"Are you cleansed?" the priest asks.

"I am," Sabal replies. He doesn't twitch as the kukri flashes past his face, burying itself in the goat's neck and tearing it open. He holds the animal steady, though it bucks and jerks and gurgles, and in the palanquin Bhadra makes a quiet, wounded noise. Blood spatters the front of her dress. No one looks at her.

"Rise," says the priest when the goat bleeds out and folds in on itself on the ground. "Rise, regent. The gods look on you favourably; they bless you, that you may in turn bring their blessings to us." They stand together. Finally, the priest turns to Bhadra. "Tarun Matara."

He hands her the kukri. And Ajay clenches his fists, stomps down hard on the sudden rage that flares up at the sight of Bhadra - _she's a kid, you sick fuck_ \- reaching out with shaking hands to accept it. Blood smearing her palms. She looks like she might be about to throw up all over it. Understandable if she does. He'll take the knife from her and gut the first person who gives her trouble for it.

"In- in the name of Kyra and Banashur," she says. Her voice quavers; the palanquin shakes slightly with the force of her fear. "I make you my-my regent, to rule, um, to guide my people until such a time as I...am ready do so myself. Take this symbol of office," and she almost shoves it in Sabal's direction. "We give thanks to the gods for, for sending us a leader, to make us free once more. We thank the gods for giving us life."

"We thank the gods for giving us life," Sabal repeats. He takes the kukri with a nod to Bhadra. Turns his head away from her, an almost imperceptible slight she can't possible miss - but the gesture isn't meant for her.

Over the blade, he meets Ajay's eyes, firelight dancing gold on green. They look something at each other.

"It is done," says the priest, and Sabal turns away. He faces the crowd, kukri cradled in his hands; when he lifts it, and a thousand people roar his name.

They'll call him _regent_ , _representative_ , _stand-in_ , whatever's most convenient at the time, but that won't change the truth of what he is. Kyrat has a king again. The last one's only been gone a few weeks. Not even dead, though to be fair, it's not like they know that. And Pagan's not guiltless; he tore the country open and then left things to fester because he _couldn't be fucked_ doing anything else. Nobody should want him back. That's fair.

But Sabal is king now (they'll call him regent, as if Bhadra will ever get a say in running things) and people are forgetting. Acting like he didn't spend years locked in a self-imposed deadlock with Amita, because he was too proud to compromise. Pretending six people didn't bleed out this morning onto the ground they're trampling.

 _I don't want to be here,_ Ajay thinks. _I want to go home. I want the house I grew up in, the country I know. Why'd you do this to me, Mom? Why'd you leave me in this mess? I want to go home._

He doesn't, though. It's the strangest thing; _home_ is a concept that gets cloudier every time it comes up.

He's nowhere he doesn't want to be.

"You honour me," Sabal is saying. "Thank you, my brothers and sisters. I stand here, by the grace of Kyra, and by the faith you put in me. By the _trust_. And I swear, to the gods and to you, I will not fail in keeping my promises. I _will_ lead Kyrat out of the broken ruins of war; I will mend the damage done by Pagan and his soldiers, by whatever means necessary. I will see that justice is done. With Kyra's guidance, we can rebuild our country and reclaim what was taken from us. We can be whole again. And we will be. This, I swear to you."

He's gold in the flickering firelight; glowing like something not quite human. Forget _regent, king_ , he's a pagan god drenched in flames, and the kukri in his hands is dripping, dripping.

 _Should we all kneel?_ Ajay wonders. _Who are you all praying to, really?_ Bhadra sits in the shadows, staring at her lap, her bloody hands. Forgotten.

Sabal shifts the kukri to one hand, lowering so it hangs by his side and bleeds into the soil at his feet. He doesn't have to ask for silence. "But I would not be standing here without help. You know this, I know this. And while we have all made sacrifices, it seems only right to acknowledge the man who gave almost everything for the Golden Path. My unwavering ally; I wouldn't be here without him. Ajay, will you step forward?"

Ajay does. His heart is hammering in his chest, loud enough that Sabal must be able to hear; maybe everyone can. So many people. Looking at him, but it's Sabal that scares him most. Him and his wild green eyes, the giant fucking knife in his hand.

"Okay," Ajay says quietly, barely moving his lips as he does. A trick he stole from Bhadra. "I'm here. What do you need me to do?"

"Smile, brother," Sabal replies. "This will be over soon. I know you're uncomfortable, but bear it a little longer, for me."

"Sure."

He smiles stiffly. Nods to the crowd when they yell his name (though not as loud as they yell Sabal's, he can't help but notice).

"Ajay Ghale, son of Mohan Ghale," Sabal announces. He reaches for Ajay's hand, lifting it above both their heads. His palm is slippery with goat's blood. "There's no one I'd rather have at my back, and no one who deserves this honour more. I name him my second, my right hand man, and Lieutenant-General to the Kyrati Army. Ajay. Do you accept the position?"

"I do," Ajay says loudly, and holds very still as the cheering washes over him. He turns when he's directed to; a priest he doesn't recognise hands him another kukri, this one clean. Less ornate than the one Sabal's holding, but still noticeably decorated. Heavy. If the wear on the hilt is anything to go by, it's _ancient_.

He accepts what could potentially be a centuries-old relic, and bows to the priest without prompting. To Bhadra, whose expression he can't make out. To Sabal, who smiles, and to the crowds. And then it's over. He steps back into line, hiding his relief.

There are a few other _honours_ to be handed out. Given to people he doesn't know from the field, people he only ever saw at meetings, standing in Sabal's shadow or by his side. They accept their new titles with an ease Ajay envies. Military ranks, political positions for a government that doesn't exist yet. But he supposes it's no more inappropriate than making him fucking _Lieutenant-General_ of an army they don't have. And lucky, too; it's like Sabal's just forgotten he's not a Kyrati. No citizenship, residency, not even a _visa._ If he ever had a Kyrati birth certificate, he's never seen it. At some point that's probably going to turn into an issue. For the moment though, maybe it's easier to just let everyone have their dreams.

And then it's over. The priests lead the crowd in one last prayer; Sabal stands with them, his head bowed. Ajay follows this lead, staring at the ground between his feet. Counting breaths until the gods are sufficiently thanked and the Golden Path soldiers next to him start stretching, dispersing, muttering, "thank Kyra for that" and, "about time, my feet are killing me".

Ajay turns to Bhadra and finds her surrounded by people. Her palanquin is pushed towards Jalendu temple; he steps forward to help and finds himself gently shut out. Manages to catch Bhadra's eye for a few seconds. She looks...resigned. Her hands are clenched in her lap, hiding the blood from view. She mouths a quick, _bye_ , at him, and then turns away.

 _They'll look after her,_ Ajay tells himself. _All the ceremonies are over, they'll make sure she gets something to eat and drink. Please, someone make sure the poor kid's okay._

It turns out they'll be camping inside the temple, or at least as many of them as can fit. And that's not unexpected; he's slept in some weird places since arriving in Kyrat. The basement of a temple doesn't come close to being the most uncomfortable. Even the prospect of sleeping packed in like a sardine in a can, surrounded by people he only vaguely recognises, isn't all that daunting. At this stage he's tired enough that he'll take whatever is on offer. The priests are handing out thin woollen blankets and thinner pillows to their guests; Ajay lines up with the rest, forcing out smiles and greetings to everyone who approaches him.

It's an anticlimax, the sleepy stumble back to the room he left his clothes in, getting changed with Golden Path soldiers who don't seem to be processing this any better than he is. Nobody seems to know what to say. "Great ceremony" and "I can't believe it's over, Sabal's regent" and "Now what?"

 _I don't know_ , Ajay thinks. _And neither does Bhadra. Do the priests know? Does Sabal? Where do we even start?_

He's late getting back to the underground shrine behind the golden doors. Stopped by people with congratulations, approval (enthusiastic), disapproval (quiet, veiled in politeness) and questions he can't answer. Bhadra's nowhere in sight. He tells himself to be grateful for that; she'll be sleeping in a separate, adjoining chamber, and maybe she's already been put to bed.

Sabal is stretched out at the foot of the Kyra statue. He's back in his usual clothes, faded shirt and his favourite jacket. He beckons Ajay over, indicating the space next to him.

"Over here, Ajay."

"Thanks. How the hell are we going to fit everyone in here?" He settles down on Sabal's right, stretching out and trying not to kick anyone. "That's going to get...intimate."

"The priests have their own quarters on the next level down. We'll fit whoever we can in here, and most of the women are next door with the Tarun Matara." Sabal shrugs, folding his arms behind his head and staring up at the stone ceiling. "The rest will just have to manage. Nobody expects comfort when they stay in a temple."

"Guess not."

The lanterns are doused soon after. The room falls smoky dark, but not silent. Whispers, shifting cloth and quiet snores. And Ajay would have thought he'd be tired enough to sleep through anything short of an elephant rampage, but it turns out he should have known better. The air is oppressive; acrid and heavy, extinguished candles and too many people packed too close. Closing his eyes doesn't help matters any. He's spent too long sleeping out under the stars, alone in caves or safehouses. Too much time in the silence of the mountains, where sound risks avalanche and the snow mutes even his footsteps into nothing.

This temple is too fucking _loud_.

He opens his eyes and flinches; across from him, Sabal looks right back.

"Can't sleep, brother?" he asks, voice low.

Ajay wriggles a little, trying to shuffle his thin pillow into another, equally unsatisfying shape. "We're...kind of lying on solid rock," he says, matching Sabal's volume. "It's not really working for me. Guess I'm not tired enough."

"Speak for yourself; I can't remember the last time I had a full night's sleep."

"You're not sleeping now," Ajay points out, and Sabal laughs softly.

"My mind's too busy; you know how it is. If we were back in Banapur I'd find something useful to do, but as it is..."

"Yeah."

They fall silent. Ajay shuffles his pillow again, then tugs the woollen blanket a little higher. He can already feel an ache building up in his muscles. In his neck, ribs, the hip that's pressing into solid rock. Tomorrow is going to be the exact opposite of fun. Or...today, rather. The sky might be getting light already.

"That ceremony was pretty amazing," he says to distract himself. "I've never seen anything like that. And you looked great out there, by the way. Really...great."

Sabal's lips curve into an unfamiliar smile. "Thanks. Though you should have seen yourself; you suit traditional clothing. Better brace yourself for marriage proposals, brother, because I suspect there'll be a few coming your way in the next few weeks." He laughs, and Ajay laughs with him. It's not that much of a surprise when Sabal reaches across the minimal space between them and finds one of Ajay's hands under the blanket. Twines their fingers together and squeezes.

"Are you still angry with me?" he asks softly.

Ajay shrugs. "Yeah. A little. Yeah, I am." He shuffles closer, obeying Sabal's gentle tug on his hand. "It was kind of-"

From somewhere off in the darkness behind him comes a groan. A hissed, "Whoever that is, some of us are trying to sleep. You mind _shutting the fuck up?_ "

 _Sorry_ , Ajay mouths at Sabal. Who responds by tugging on his hand again, until Ajay takes the hint and moves. Getting close enough that Sabal can release his hand and drape an arm over his shoulder instead. He digs his fingers in, kneading Ajay's muscles through his coat.

"Best keep it down," he says, and his breath is a whisper on Ajay's cheeks. "We all have a long day ahead of us."

"This quiet enough for you?" Ajay responds. He leans in to say it; his nose touches Sabal's, and he flinches. Didn't realise they were _that_ close. But he doesn't move away again. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Sabal breathes. He tilts his head, letting the tip of his nose brush against Ajay's again. And again, when Ajay responds in kind. His fingers linger on Ajay's shoulder, pressing into aching muscles until Ajay feels them start to relax.

 _I remember,_ he thinks. _We've been here before_. _After Durgesh; you found me on the mountain and carried me back to camp. Snarled at the medic. Made them take me to the homestead where you thought I'd feel safest. Waited, prayed. And then I woke up. You were so warm I was scared you'd burn me._

It might be the dark, the exhaustion; might be the memory of candlelight reflected in Sabal's eyes. Ajay nuzzles him back. He takes a breath and lets it out, and then whispers before he can change his mind. "I really want to kiss you right now. Is that...okay?"

"No," Sabal tells him immediately. But it's not a rejection; he doesn't pull away, doesn't put any distance between them. His hand moves from Ajay's shoulder to his neck, slipping under his collar to stroke his nape. "Not here," he amends. "Holy ground, it's forbidden. Or I'd have done it already."

"Yeah?"

"Count on it."

"There's always tomorrow," Ajay says, closing his eyes. The ground isn't any more comfortable than it was a few minutes ago, and his pillow barely qualifies for the name - but he feels a little better. Sabal strokes the back of his neck, fingertips dipping into Ajay's hairline.

In the dark, they breathe together.

Countless seconds later, Sabal removes his hand. "Get some sleep," he says. His words are warm on Ajay's cheeks. "We have a long day of travelling ahead of us; we need to make it to Chal Jama Monastery before sunset, which is easier said than done with the kind of convoy we'll have following us. No doubt we'll come under fire. Could be Royal Army, or just Amita's people, I don't know. I'll need you guarding the Tarun Matara the whole way there. She trusts you, she'll do as you say. But it's not going to be easy."

"Never is." Ajay yawns. He tries to open his eyes, but they fall closed again, and it looks like the day might be finally catching up with him. About time. "Chill, I got this. Bhadra will be fine."

"The _Tarun Matara_ ," Sabal says. "She's-"

"Oh my god, please just shut up and sleep." Ajay holds in another yawn, pushes it down though it makes his jaw creak in protest. "What's Kyra's policy on cuddling?"

Silence for a moment. Then Sabal exhales, a quiet, defeated sound.

"Turn over, " he says. Ajay obeys, same as he always does; somewhere in the most exhausted recesses of his mind, he thinks, _So Kyra doesn't do kisses, but spooning is fine? Lady needs to get her priorities sorted. Jesus._ But he feels Sabal shifting behind him, a loss of warmth and lack of _him_ that makes Ajay's thin wool blanket feel twice as inadequate. And then he's there, settling with his back pressed full against Ajay's.

Ajay leans. Nudges Sabal with a shoulder and feels him nudge back.

Warmer now, he lets himself fall; drowning in the darkness behind his eyelids.


	2. We Thank the Gods

They rise before dawn, when Jalendu's priests come by without ceremony and start lighting the lanterns and braziers around the room. Ajay sits up with a groan. Around him, people are shifting, pulling blankets over their heads or swearing quietly. He considers lying back down. Maybe snatching another fifteen, twenty minutes of sleep while he can. Looks like most people are thinking the same. But the mayhem will start when everyone decides they want to use the bathrooms at the same time; the temple really isn't set up for this kind of crowd. What facilities it does have are a little on the decrepit side. Place needs some maintenance, and it shows.

"God _dammit_ ," Ajay mutters, shedding his blanket. He nudges Sabal, still asleep, his lower back pressed up against Ajay's hip. "Come on, regent, time to wake up. We've got a road trip to get ready for."

"Unless we're under attack right now, I don't want to hear it," Sabal says without opening his eyes.

"You want to wait an hour in line for the bathrooms?"

"Urgh." Sabal pulls himself into a sitting position, wincing. His eyes, when he opens them, are bloodshot. "What time is it?"

"Dawn. Soon, anyway."

"Too early to abdicate, I guess."

"Little bit. Come on, it's still quiet." Ajay folds his blanket up neatly and leaves it on top of the pillow. He does the same with Sabal's in the time it takes for the other man to stand. Has to grab his arm as he stumbles, and that's...kind of a worry. "Are you okay? You're looking really out of it."

"I kept a vigil with the Tarun Matara, night before last," Sabal says. He looks around the crowded room, the people still trying to pretend they don't know it's time to get up. "Kyra, in your mercy, let this day go smoothly. Get us to the monastery without issues."

"Amen," Ajay agrees. "Okay, so you're running on maybe two hours of sleep. Good to know. I'll make sure nobody lets you have a gun."

"I knew I chose well with you, brother," Sabal says, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "This way."

They don't talk about last night. Or, this morning rather, because it was technically only a couple of hours ago. Not that it matters. They don't talk about it while trying to wash up in icy lake water, or picking their way back through the sleeping people and out of the temple. The sky is a light grey, growing lighter by the second; somewhere nearby, the priests are praying. Brave of them to be up already, given the chill in the air. Sharp, biting. Feels like snow up north.

Ajay wraps him arms around himself. "Cold," he says; his breath steams out in front of him. "It's going to be a mission getting people moving."

"I planned for that," Sabal says. "Once the Tarun Matara rises, the rest will follow."

"You think?"

"Fuck, I hope so," Sabal says. He looks a little more awake; at least enough for the wry laugh that sends a cloud of steam billowing out around him.

They share a smile, and they don't talk about it.

Breakfast is a hurried thing that happens in between meetings, organising, planning. They're on an island, for starters, and they need to get several hundred people _off_ it before they can meet up with the truck convoy on land. Assuming those people are ever ready to go.

"Who the hell decided building a really important temple on an island in the middle of a demon fish-infested lake was a good idea?" Ajay asks between mouthfuls of rice and dahl. "It's like a logistical nightmare."

"But it looks cool," says Achal, on his left. "'Cause you know, that's what really counts with this stuff. Nobody ever stops to think about _logistics_."

"Aesthetic," agrees Banhi from Ajay's other side. "Hey, how come you got chutney, huh? I never got any chutney. Ajay, did you-"

"Nope."

"What the _hell_ ," she says, shovelling a mound of rice into her mouth and talking through it. "What, did you smile sweetly at the cooks? Offer to marry one of their daughters? You brave man in your Golden Path uniform, are you beating the girls off with sticks now? Unbelievable."

"I just _asked_ ," Achal says. "Sometimes good manners get you nice things, you should try it."

"So are you still assigned to deliveries?" Ajay asks before things can get out of hand. "Trucks of illegal books and smuggled gold and stuff?"

Achal shakes his head. "No, not anymore. Shame; it was fun while it lasted, and we were good at it. Too good. We know all the shortcuts and side roads the army won't use, so Sabal's pulled us off making the deliveries and assigned us to planning them. Moving up in the world, yar."

"Suddenly we're inner circle," Banhi mumbles. She leans over Ajay with her spoon and prods at Achal's chutney. He tugs his plate out of reach; smacks her hand away. She withdraws, sighing. "Selfish. Fine then. But yeah, we'll be seeing a lot more of you, Ajay. Travelling with the regent, planning shit out. Parties every night. It'll be _wild_."

"Not really," Achal objects.

"From what I've seen, Sabal's not really the partying type," Ajay says. "I don't know, maybe we'll have prayer meets. That could be...fun?"

Banhi snorts. "Depends on what you do for fun."

"And, uh, speaking of which," Achal says. He pushes his empty plate aside, reaching for the cup of sweet tea sitting by his foot. "You remember that thing we did, that one time, you know."

"Uh..."

"The one where you guarded that shipment for us? And it wasn't like we were _selling_ the things, just lending them out in exchange for a bit of cash. Can't run a resistance on nothing. And Pagan was just going to have them melted down anyway-"

"Oh, you mean those religious relic things?"

" _Shh,_ " hisses Achal. Banhi reaches over and slaps the back of Ajay's head.

"Dumbass," she says, ignoring the pained look he gives her. "Why don't you say that a little bit louder? I don't think those priests over there heard you the first time."

"Okay, okay, I get it. Ix-nay on the elics-ray. I'm guessing Sabal didn't approve that mission?"

"That's _hilarious_ ," Achal says. "You think it sounds like something he'd agree to?"

"But he was happy enough to take the money we brought him, once our contact sent it through. I figured we'd have more problems. Not like we could tell him where it was coming from. I guess it was needed so bad he didn't _care_ what we were up to." Banhi shrugs, downing her tea in three quick swallows. "Just don't fucking mention what we did, and we won't either. We'll get the artefacts back eventually. Once Kyrat's back on its feet and we can return the loan with interest."

"Got it," Ajay says.

"Great. I won't lie to you, that's a weight off my mind to hear."

"No, hey, I get it. You did what you had to do, same as everyone." Ajay finishes his tea, handing the cup and his plate over to Achal when he beckons for them. "And honestly, I'm really glad you guys will be around. I don't know a lot of people around here."

"But they all know _you_ , right? Must be nice."

"Ignore him, Ajay," Banhi says, shoving her plate at Achal. "This one's got all the sensitivity of a rutting rhino. He _means_ he doesn't have many friends here, idiot. He sacrificed everything to help us out, that's enough to make anyone a little lonely." She nudges Ajay's side with a sharp elbow. "We've got your back. Pranav too, only he's gone ahead to scout out the roads. And Omkari. She'll like you, you're good and quiet. She likes people who can get a job done without whining about it."

"She sounds pretty cool," Ajay agrees. "And thank you. Seriously. It'll be good to have you with us, wherever that is."

He slides down from the low stone wall, dusting his gloves off. Waves at Banhi and Achal and starts weaving his way through the crowds towards the temple. Sun's up. Has been for over an hour now, but Jalendu's tiny kitchen is a hive of activity, and the queue for breakfast stretches half way across the island. Nobody's showing any signs of heading towards the boats.

Downstairs, the heavy golden doors are shut tight. Ajay makes out voices behind them, something that sounds like chanting. He lingers; it'd be nice to check on Bhadra, see how she's feeling this morning, maybe ask if people are looking after her. And he hasn't seen Sabal since they separated an hour ago to oversee things. Chances are this is where they'll both be. Only, he's kind of getting the feeling that the doors are shut for a reason. Admission by invitation only, no gatecrashers allowed.

" _Namaste_ ," says someone behind him. Ajay turns to find himself eye to eye with a priest. Not someone he knows; but then, the only one he was every introduced to was Raju at the monastery. The rest don't seem to have much to say to him. "You're Ajay Ghale, I take it?"

"Yeah, that's me."

"Welcome to Jalendu Temple. Did you sleep well?"

"Sure," Ajay lies. "It was great. Actually, I was just looking Sabal. You know where I could find him?"

The priest gestures to the golden doors. "He's at prayer, my friend. Asking Kyra's blessings for the day to come. It's a custom for the Tarun Matara to do so, but we felt that Kyrat's new regent was entitled to join her. Your presence is not required."

"Uh," Ajay says. "That's...fair enough, I guess. Any idea how long they're going to be praying for?"

"The passage of time is irrelevant to Kyra. They will pray as long as they need to for their souls to find communion with her." The priest gestures to the exit. "You are not needed, son of Mohan."

_Yeah, yeah, fuck you too,_ Ajay thinks irritably. He leaves without another word to the man whose name he doesn't know and wasn't offered. Which...is a little rude. People tend to be pretty friendly around here, especially once they find out who he is; maybe he's just getting overly accustomed to that. Only, now he thinks about it, none of Jalendu's priests have been all that chatty. And it's possible he committed some kind of religious faux pas without noticing, but he doubts it. Sabal would have said. He's pretty patient about the whole _ignorant outsider_ thing.

So maybe that's the issue. Kyrat's new regent chose a...stranger, a _tourist_ for his second in command. Worse yet, a guy who doesn't worship their gods. Stands to reason there'll be a few people who resent that.

He goes back outside, to the crowds and the laughter, sleepy smiles and sweet tea. Does his best to be helpful; people keep looking to him like he should know what's going on, what the plan is, and he doesn't really want to be the one to tell them that he has about as much clue as they do. But he manages to oversee crates of supplies, ammo, well-wrapped artefacts from Jalendu's vaults, onto boats and across to the waiting trucks on the shore. And then of course there are boxes of all the gifts people brought for Bhadra. Food offerings, jewellery, clothing. Sacks of rice, chickens, and some _genius_ managed to get small herd of goats across during the night.

"It's crazy," Banhi says when he begs her for help. "We haven't had a Tarun Matara in decades, nobody knows what kinds of offerings to bring. I got her a couple of books, myself. _The Art of War_ , that's always a good one. Can she read? I'll read it _to_ her if she can't; a girl's got to educate herself in this day and age. Oh, hey, there's Pranav. He'll know how to get the livestock back across without them shitting on too many people. _Hey, Pranav!_ A little help would be nice, yar!"

Eventually, they're ready to go. It starts with Bhadra, coming up the steps into the mid-morning sunlight, blinking and raising a hand to shield her eyes. Lowering it again before she can do so. She's back on her palanquin, surrounded by women in bright colours who fuss over her clothes and hair, and clear a path through the crowds to the boats.

Ajay meets her eyes for a couple of seconds; she looks dazed, exhausted. But she manages a small wave before her attendants usher her onto the first boat.

He doesn't see her again for hours.

As road trips go, it is hands down the worst experience of Ajay's life. He'll try sugar-coat it later. Tell himself it wasn't _really_ almost midday before they got started, that they didn't really spend a good three hours trying to get hundreds of people across a lake swarming with demon fish and pack them into stolen transport vehicles, some still painted Royal Army red. Three hours in which he definitely wasn't cheerfully yelled at, sworn at, called every name under the sun, and all of it with smiles from the offending parties.

"Kyrati time," people tell him when he asks why it's taking so long to load _one goddamn truck_. "No point rushing these things, it's bad for the digestion. The aunties don't do anything in a hurry."

"We'll get there," they tell him. "Kyrati time. We'll make it at our own pace. Relax, friend; have some tea, put your feet up. No hurry."

It's almost noon when he climbs up into the bed of a truck near the front of the convoy and finds Sabal already there, barking orders into a radio in a clipped voice. He looks rumpled; collar askew, hair falling all over his face. Struggling to tie it back with one hand and hold the radio with the other, and not really managing either.

"Tell those last two trucks that if they're not ready in five minutes, we're leaving without them," he's saying as Ajay approaches. "They can deal with roadside ambushes on their own. We're late, we can't afford to wait around any longer. _Tell_ them."

" _We can't rush these people, they're all in their sixties!_ " The voice on the other end sounds equally hassled. Ajay comes up behind Sabal, touching his arm to make sure he's been noticed. Gently taking the black elastic tie off him before he can snap it. " _They need assistance to get into the truck. None of them should even be here, but they said they walked for days to come and see the Tarun Matara. And they won't go home until they've petitioned her formally at the monastery. They say their villages are starving. They want to ask her to speak to Kyra on their behalf._ "

"You mean they're hoping we won't send them away empty-handed," Sabal says with a bark of laughter. "They're not fooling anyone."

He tilts his head when he feels the tug on his shoulder, letting Ajay gently finger-comb his hair back. It's still a little damp from washing this morning; loose strands keep falling into his face. Ajay gathers as much of it up as he can, resisting the urge to linger on it longer than he needs to. He fixes it in place with the tie and steps back.

Sabal gives Ajay a quick nod of thanks, but his attention is clearly elsewhere. "Ten minutes," he says to whichever unfortunate soldier is on the other end of the radio. "None of these idiots seem to understand the risks we're undergoing here. We _cannot_ afford to travel after dark. It's a death sentence and camping out isn't much better, not with all these people. Anyone with eyes would be able to spot our fires."

" _That's what I've been trying to tell them, but they just won't listen!_ "

Ajay leans in, one hand resting on Sabal's shoulder. "Tell them the Tarun Matara says we have to leave now," he says. "Tell them, uh...the omens are really bad if we're not gone by noon. Like, multiple violent deaths kind of bad. We absolutely have to leave now."

" _Okay, give me a second._ " The radio goes silent for a moment, then comes back to life. " _Well what do you know; it actually worked. Should be all loaded up in five. Thank Kyra_."

"You're welcome," Ajay says wryly.

"I'm not sure how I feel about this," Sabal tells him. He tilts his head back to frown up at Ajay. "Blatantly lying about the Tarun Matara's orders; it's not illegal, yet, but the morality is questionable."

Ajay huffs a laugh. Ahead of them, someone in the lead truck gives a shout; engines start up all over the convoy. "Isn't that why you keep me around? The godless heretic outsider who doesn't get your customs and just says whatever works? 'Cause I'm not feeling even slightly guilty about that."

"I suppose it's useful," Sabal agrees. "Just don't do it too often. And _not_ in front of any holy men."

"I'm not stupid. Or suicidal."

"Glad to hear it, brother. Have you seen a map lying around anywhere? We've planned out rest stops but I want to check them with Achal, see if he has any better ideas."

The first unplanned stop comes maybe an hour down the road. And they should have expected it; whoever was in charge of the logistics for this trip (and Ajay has a feeling the answer to that is 'everyone and no one') clearly overlooked the inevitable side effects of travelling with civilians who aren't accustomed to roughing it like soldiers. Older people, teens and pre-teens with parents, anyone who could afford to leave their work for a few days, on the off-chance that their presence at the ceremony might be rewarded. Or even just remembered.

They stop, because they have to, and Sabal swallows his impatience long enough to let himself be coaxed out of the truck and out onto the dry grass for a walk. Ajay climbs onto the roof of the truck; peers up ahead, towards the vehicle Bhadra was assigned to. And maybe she's there, but he can't see her. Can't tell if she's okay or not. If she's being looked after. He hopes she's managing to get some sleep on this trip; it's hard enough keeping their new regent from tearing people limb from limb, without having to worry about how Bhadra copes with exhaustion.

He walks the line of the convoy when it becomes clear that they won't be getting started again for a good ten minutes or so. He's not the only one; Banhi passes him, coming from the opposite direction. "All clear," she says, and he tells her, "Sure. Just gonna double check."

It doesn't matter that they _own_ the north, just like they own the rest of the country, in theory. Too many people have too many reasons to want them all dead. And Sabal is right: they can't afford to still be on the road by nightfall. Stops like this are a risk for everyone. However much people might want to answer the call of nature, stretch their legs, or eat something on solid ground that doesn't buck under them with every pothole in the road, it's going to be hell on their schedule.

_Okay,_ Ajay thinks as he reaches the end of the convoy and turns around. _We'll just have to make sure it doesn't happen too often. After this, we stick to the schedule. How hard can that be?_

It's the first stop of many. Flat tyres (three), yaks and rhinos on the road, landslides that require them to slow down and drive around carefully. Every time the vehicles stop, people dismount. Wander off into the bushes. The exhausted Golden Path soldiers eventually give up on chasing after them; _you don't know what's out there, come back!_ doesn't seem to get through. Ajay takes to standing by the trucks, rifle in hand, waiting for the screaming to start.

Sabal doesn't bother to join him. His mood get blacker by the hour; it's late afternoon when they roll to a stop by a grassy hill with a tall stone statue halfway up its slope, and by that stage even Ajay's given up on trying to engage him in conversation.

"Are we stopping to pray?" he asks lamely, because people are hopping down in droves and making for the statue with a purpose that says they know what they're doing a lot better than he does. Nothing new there.

"Kyra's Pilgrimage," Achal tells him. "Have to stop here, it's sacred ground. The Tarun Matara needs to pray for the safety of our journey, etcetera. Might as well go for a walk, friend. We’ll be here a good half hour. I'm going to nap while have the chance."

"Slacker," Banhi says. "Who's going to guard the convoy, huh? You told Pranav you'd switch places with him here."

"Later," Achal says, dragging a sack of rice over to use as a pillow. "How am I supposed to stay beautiful for you if I don't get my rest?"

"Not enough rest in the world for _that_."

"You're a cold woman, Banhi. Hear that? That's the sound of my heart breaking into a thousand tiny pieces, all because of you."

Sabal swings down from the truck without a word, joining the crowd headed towards the Kyra statue. Ajay follows the line of his shoulders for a few seconds before turning away. Maybe praying will help his mood. Seems like the _only_ thing that'll help, at this stage. He'd be better off if he'd just give in and _sleep_ , but he refuses. Doesn't want to send people the wrong message; he wants to be seen, alert and competent, on his first official day as regent.

Ajay drops down to the dusty road and heads in the opposite direction to the crowds. And he's not completely ignorant of the fact that this is the very thing he's spent half the day telling people _not_ to do, but he's completely out of fucks to give. He'd kill for a little peace. If this is how things are going to be from now on, he's pretty sure he won't last a month.

He's reasonably sure Sabal will snap first, though. Small mercies.

It's quiet in amongst the trees. Leaves and wind, footsteps on dry, dead twigs. Ajay closes his eyes for a moment. Imagines himself...elsewhere. A few weeks back, a month or so maybe. Far enough that he was still spending his time hunting Royal Army, tearing down posters and burning heroin stashes and helping people with all their little problems. In hindsight, it seems blissfully relaxing. Like a vacation he's just come back from.

Something crackles; Ajay jumps, glancing around and seeing nothing. It takes longer than it should for him to identify the source of the noise. He digs his radio out of a pocket in his jacket.

"Uh, hey?" he says. "Are we leaving already? That was fast."

"You're not the one leaving here," says Amita.

And Ajay freezes. It's all he can do, all he has. He stares down at the radio and squeezes it so tight he's in danger of breaking the thing. But god, who could blame him? Of all the things that could possibly go wrong just now...

_Fuck_ , he thinks helplessly. _I fucked up, and now I'm going to pay for it_.

"Amita?" he asks.

"Forgotten me already? Funny how that seems to happen. You give years of your life to a cause, and what do you get back? Nothing."

"What do you want?" Ajay hisses. He checks over his shoulder, into the trees around him. "You can't do this is, you're putting us both at risk-"

She cuts him off, as brisk and impatient as she always was. "Save it. I'm not asking for any more favours. Not from you. Not unless you've seen sense and want to fix the error in your judgement."

"Uh, _no_ , I don't want to do that."

"You will," Amita says flatly. "And I hope it hurts you. I hope it tears you apart in the same way leaving Kyrat is doing to me - and when the lies come crashing down around your head, _try_ to remember that it's all your fault, won't you? I warned you. I'm warning you again. Last chance to get out before things turn nasty, _son of Mohan_."

"How are you doing it? Getting out?" Movement off in the trees to his left; Ajay turns, reaching for the handgun at his hip. 'Shoot to kill' is his motto these days. If it's friendly, it won't have to sneak up on him when he's clearly avoiding company.

Rustling in the leaf litter, and a small yellow monkey appears. Looks right at him for a second or two before deciding he isn't edible. Ajay lets himself relax a little.

"Why? Are you going to try and stop us?" Amita laughs at him, and the sound is the exact opposite of happy. "I'm _leaving_. I'm going far away where none of you can find me; isn't that what you wanted? I'm exiling myself. Who cares how I'm doing it?"

"You said _us_ just now," Ajay points out. "Did you manage to save some of them?"

He hopes she did. Hopes so hard; he's made a lot of friends in Kyrat since arriving. Been welcomed into a lot of households, had tea with countless families. He knows all Amita's loyalists by name - _knew_ , rather. Now he knows where most of them died, which ones were his fault and which ones Sabal's. It shouldn't have happened that way. He shouldn't have paved the way for it to happen.

"No," Amita says flatly. Ajay's shoulders slump a little, and his heart with them. "I have...a friend. She has contacts in our destination, she'll make sure we get where we're going. I'm very lucky to have her; none of my people got a last minute rescue like I did. They just died. Thanks for that, by the way."

"I'm sorry," Ajay says. "But your people attacked me first when I-" _showed up to kill you_ \- "And I tried to stop what happened at Jalendu, I swear, but-" _I couldn't._ "I'm really sorry," he repeats. "I couldn't stop it."

"I called to say goodbye, Ajay," Amita says. "And good riddance too. May you come to feel the pain of the wounds you tore into my country. May you suffer before you die. And you will: he's going to kill you. I just hope it happens after you truly understand the extent of your mistake."

"Wait-"

"If you care at all," Amita interrupts. "About anything I stood for, if you care about the future of your mother's country, then don't just be an observer. See that my schools are built, that my girls are educated. Stop children from being made to marry. And Ajay...look after Bhadra, will you? This is very important. I did what I could, but I can't protect her anymore. That's on you now. Don't fuck it up."

The radio melts into static snow, and then silence. Amita is gone.

Ajay rejoins the convoy a few minutes later. The radio is burning a hole in his jacket pocket; he keeps imagining he can hear it buzz, Amita calling him back to say she's changed her mind. She's staying, she's gathering her people together and planning another attack. She's going to expose Ajay for the liar he is. And maybe he'd deserve it if she did. He wonders (he can't help himself, it's been such a long few days) if he'd mind all that much.

Sabal is standing near the statue, hands on his hips. Glaring at the crowd of people in front of him. He doesn't turn as Ajay comes to hover at his shoulder.

"So much for a short stop, huh," Ajay says.

"It was necessary. Scheduled, even, unlike the others, though if we were travelling according to _schedule_ then we'd have arrived here roughly two hours ago. As it is..." Sabal gestures at the statue, the people kneeling in front of it. Heads bowed, lips moving; their voices overlap and drown each other out. Hard to see how Kyra will make sense of any of it. If she's even listening.

"I...take it you're not feeling any better," Ajay says wryly. "Isn't praying supposed to make people chill? Calm them down a little? What did you ask for?"

Sabal turns away, stalking towards the convoy. He says over his shoulder, "'Kyra, grant me patience and let this day be over soon, in your mercy'. Looks like she's otherwise occupied just now, given the lack of response."

"Bhadra probably takes priority," Ajay agrees.

"We'll be travelling through the night at this rate. We don't have the supplies for it, not to mention the troops."

They've reached the trucks. Sabal beckons to a couple of Golden Path soldiers, and they slink over reluctantly. Ajay can't say he blames them. Anyone with sense is keeping well out of sight just now. "I'll go have a word with Bhadra- the Tarun Matara," he says. "Maybe she can get people moving." Sabal gives him a terse nod, already occupied with ordering his unlucky soldiers off to check on their ammo supplies. Like he doesn't already know what they'll find; but hey, whatever keeps him busy.

Bhadra's kneeling at the foot of the statue. She looks up when Ajay approaches, giving him a bright smile that threads hairline cracks through her heavy face paint. "Hi. Is it time to go already?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I know everyone's probably asking Kyra to do good things for you, and I don't want to jinx that. But we're running a bit behind schedule."

"Sabal's not happy, is he?"

"That's...one way of putting it." He offers her a hand, but before she can take it he finds himself gently ushered out of the way by a woman he doesn't know. There's a second one on Bhadra's other side. Between them, they help her stand. "Uh, thanks. I'm guessing this is another custom I completely didn't know about."

"No physical contact with the opposite gender, unless they're priests," Bhadra tells him. "Or I'll be tainted. Sorry, Ajay, I forgot to tell you."

"That's cool. I probably should have guessed anyway." But he thinks of the ceremony the night before; the smoke and the staring, and Bhadra clinging to his wrist with one small hand. She was shaking, he remembers. Scared out of her mind. She might still be, but the makeup is doing a fair job of making her look more doll-like than ever.

Around them, people begin to rise, bowing one last time to the statue and to Bhadra. The area clears before Bhadra's...attendants, aunties, whatever they are, have finished fussing her skirts back into place. She stands there and lets it happen. Catches Ajay's eye and pulls a face, for the briefest space of a second. Then she's back to blank canvas.

"You feeling okay?" he asks as one of the women straightens Bhadra's stole. "Getting any sleep?"

"A couple of hours, but it's bumpy. I'll try again when we get going." The woman yanks at gold cloth, a pointed gesture.

"The Tarun Matara thanks you for your concern," she says. "She is content with her situation, and her needs are being well attended to. Should you wish to make any requests of her, you'll have to wait until we arrive at Chal Jama Monastery, where she'll accept petitioners for her holy favour. Until then..."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Bye, Bhadra."

"Bye," she says, waving. "Have fun with Sabal?" Ajay turns away before he can laugh.

_She's okay_ , he thinks, heading back to the trucks. Nodding at people he passes, greeting the ones whose names he can remember. _They can dress her up and call her a goddess all they want, but she'll still pull through. She's tough._ He's relieved, to an extent that surprises him. Because Amita was right on a lot of things, and Bhadra was a big one; she's a kid, and she should get to act like one. Not be forced to sit in a cage all day like a little statue while people come pray at her feet. That's not a life. It's good to see she doesn't plan on letting them smother her spark.

"The Tarun Matara's on her way, she'll be here in a minute," he says to Banhi back at the trucks. She nods. Adjusts the strap on her rifle and glances over one shoulder.

"Thanks, Ajay," she says in a low voice. "You're a life saver. At this rate we're going to have casualties before we arrive, and I'm not talking about the Royal Army. Sabal's running short on patience, yar."

"The _regent_ needs to learn that a thirteen year old girl and a whole bunch of old people aren't going to travel as fast as he would on his own."

" _You_ tell him that. I like living."

"Maybe we'll make up for lost time?"

"Not likely."

The convoy's another ten minutes in getting going; Ajay hauls himself up into the truck bed just as it starts moving. He readjusts his radio where it sits oddly inside his jacket. Just one more thing to worry about, and he doesn't have time for it right now. Amita will do whatever Amita wants. He'll just have to hope she has the sense to stick to her word and get out of the country. For everyone's sake.

"Bhadra's going to try sleep," he says, sinking down cross-legged next to Sabal. He can't help but notice that the others are keeping as far away as the truck will allow. Chances are that's a smart move. But he's never been all that smart when it comes to people he likes. "We might get a few more miles done before the next stop, if we're lucky."

"I've radioed Raju at the monastery," Sabal says shortly. "He knows we'll be late."

"Okay. Good."

"Not if we're still on the road after sunset. The rate we're moving, we make an easy target for anyone with a rocket launcher. Or a mortar."

"But we've got scouts out, right? And the army's a mess, they're still trying to work out who gives the orders now Pagan and Yuma are gone. I don't think they're going to have time to attack a convoy, especially one heading south. That's Golden Path territory. Nobody's that stupid."

Ajay keeps his tone reasonable; he catches Banhi's eye, then Achal's. Shares a look with them, the first resigned and the second sympathetic. _Sucks to be you, mister 'right-hand man'. Regent's temper tantrums are your problem now_.

_Thanks guys._

"Have you considered following the Tarun Matara's example?" he suggests mildly. "You're running on, what, two hours of sleep? Maybe? Nobody's going to judge if you take a break."

Sabal shakes his head. "We're not safe here. And while I agree that the army would have to be a lot more organised than they are right now if they wanted to attack us, that doesn't rule out the unknown factor. Amita's loyalists are still out there, Ajay. They know we'll be making this trip, and it wouldn't be all that difficult to find out _when_ , even for traitors."

"So we'll wake you up when they attack," Ajay says. "We have _scouts_ and I figure they're not just for decoration. Promise we won't rush into any fights without you, though you shouldn't be allowed anywhere near a gun right now. You're kind of irrational."

"I'm _what?_ "

"You heard me." Ajay weighs up his options. And he's tired too, if not quite as much as Sabal. Tired, and suddenly struck by the memory of a hand on his shoulder, kneading his muscles. Stroking the back of his neck. Something warm wells up behind his ribcage. "Hey. Here's an idea: you lie down, see if you can get some rest. We'll make sure you're the first to hear about anything that goes wrong. And I'll stay right here. You know my aim's good, I won't let anyone near you." He unzips his jacket, shrugs it off and folds it, rolls it into something vaguely pillow shaped. It has to be better than what they used last night, at least. "Here. Lie down."

He's not sure who's most surprised when Sabal gives him a long look (bloodshot eyes, and deep shadows underneath them, like it's been years since he last got enough sleep). "Fine," he says abruptly. "Twenty minutes, and then you wake me."

"Sure."

"Shoot the next person who proposes we stop."

"Uh huh."

"Thank Kyra," Achal says a few minutes later. "He's a bear when he's sleep-deprived. I _told_ him this convoy was a bad idea, but would he listen? Of course not. 'If they want to follow the Tarun Matara on her pilgrimage, we'll make sure they're provided for'. Sure. Great plan."

"I think we're doing okay," Ajay offers. "As road trips go, this one's not so bad."

He's almost right. They break down once, about an hour later; a flat tyre on the lead truck, and everyone takes it as their cue to get out for a walk. Ajay has a quiet word with a few Golden Path soldiers he recognises; suggests people should know they're stopped in honey badger territory. A few minutes later the trucks start to fill up again, and he counts it a success when they get moving in record time.

So it turns out threats work better than pleading. He's not about to tell Sabal.

It's dusk by the time they reach the winding dirt path to Chal Jama Monastery. The convoy is quiet, exhausted; even the guards are yawning. Ajay suspects his bloodstream might consist of about fifty percent dissolved caffeine tablet, at the rate he's going through them. He sees the first few lanterns marking the path to their destination and punches the air half-heartedly.

_Road trip's over,_ he thinks. _I'm never fucking doing that again._ Kyrat's new regent is still unconscious at his side, passed out with Ajay's jacket under his head and a thin wool blanket over his shoulders. He wakes slowly when Ajay shakes him. Blinks like he has no idea where he is or why the ground is moving underneath him. And then it hits.

"Ajay," Sabal says quietly. "It's dark. Why is it dark?" He sits up, wincing, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. " _Fuck_. Tell the trucks to stop; we can't travel after sunset, it's too risky. We'll have to camp out."

"Relax," Ajay says, passing him a bottle of water. "We made it. We'll be there in a couple of minutes, and they're ready for us."

"You're joking."

"Nope. We're here. Looks like Kyra was listening after all."

The convoy erupts into cheers as they approach the monastery, scouts emerging from the trees on either side of the road to wave. Shouts of encouragement, of, "What took you so long? We've been waiting all day! There's no food left in the monastery, you'll have to make do with water and prayer."

That's a lie, as it turns out.

Chal Jama Monastery is lit up like a mall at Christmas. The outside bonfires burn bright and hot; inside, the walls are a warming caramel brown. Cleaned of dirt, floors swept, prayer flags gently waving. The hallways smell of spice.

Inside the temple, the prayer cushions and offering bowls are gone; in their place, long benches and tables in untidy rows, arranged around the Kyra statue in the centre. The food is piled high everywhere Ajay looks. They say Kyrat is in the slow process of starvation, but that doesn't seem to apply here. Rice, roti, curries he does and doesn't recognise, dal and dumplings, tea and beer and raksi. Ajay allows himself to be ushered to a bench by Achal ("Come on, you don't want to be left to sit with the aunties, they'll have you engaged and your wedding day planned out for you before we get to the gulab jamun").

"Where's Sabal gone? And the Tarun Matara? They get to eat, right?" Ajay helps himself to some kind of curry, spooning it onto the metal plate in front of him. "Sucks for them if they're missing out, this is _amazing_."

"I've missed festivals," Banhi agrees. "The last _proper_ one was... I don't even remember. None like this. And I know the Tarun Matara eats separately with the priests, guess the regent has to as well. They didn't invite you? Maybe you're not holy enough. That's okay, I bet it's boring anyway. _Achal_ , don't you dare eat all the chutney this time. Give it here."

"For you, Banhi, anything. Here you go."

Someone slides onto the bench next to Ajay, pulling one of the unused metal plates towards him. Ajay turns to smile at the new arrival. "Pranav, hey. I hear you had scouting duty today?"

Pranav gives him a wave. "Hello, Ajay. And only because _someone_ was too busy having a nice nap in his truck to come and relieve me. Eh, Achal?"

"Have you know, I was risking my life in that truck," Achal says cheerfully. "We all were. Sabal is scarier than Yalung himself when he's angry; I don't know how his people deal with it. Ajay, how do you manage?"

Ajay looks up guiltily, swallowing down a large mouthful of roti and goat curry. "Uh. Honestly, I have no idea. I've never really seen him mad." He thinks for a second of Jalendu, of backing away as Sabal advanced on him. An unpleasant memory, an aftertaste that lingers like oil in the back of his throat. He reaches for his cup of tea.

"You did pretty well today," Banhi tells him. "I was staying as far away as possible. Got big plans for the future, I don't need my life cut short this soon."

"Yeah, but he wasn't _mad_. Just way too tired."

"Could have fooled me," Pranav says. "From what I hear, he was touchier than...what's that giant lizard, the one from the movie? King Kong?"

"You....mean Godzilla, right?"

"Probably. Haven't seen that one in a while, I think we might have traded it. Achal, did we trade the giant lizard movie?"

"Yeah, we swapped it with Rabi for _Titanic_ , remember? Which you then made us watch."

"You loved it, yar, you were crying your eyes out. Someone pass the pork curry? That one by your elbow, thanks Ajay. Can you believe this? Actual pork curry, made with actual pork. Where did they get the pigs? And then there's chicken, and goat, where did they come from? The monastery must have their own supplies."

"We've got villagers trying to make broths from grass," Achal says. "Trying to make _mud_ edible. I guess it's hypocritical of me, because I'm going to eat my fill here anyway. But it does make you wonder."

"I don't know what we're going to do about that," Ajay admits. He feels guilty doing so, like this is something he should know. And it is. If he's really Sabal's right hand (a surreal idea, one he's still not sure he believes in) then this is something he should be able to answer. As it is, he doesn't even know what he'll be doing tomorrow. "I guess Sabal must have a plan."

"Or he says he does." Banhi spoons more chutney onto her plate, carefully putting the bowl out of Achal's reach when she's finished with it. "Now, I tried not to take sides, I really did. But Amita was honest enough to admit she couldn't save everyone. That's what she said. There'd be lean winters for the first few years while we got things sorted, and some people would die. I don't see how Sabal can have a plan that's better than anything Amita could think up."

"I'll ask him," Ajay says. "There has to be...something. We can't just let people starve."

At Ajay's side, Pranav gives a pointed sigh. "That got depressing really quickly. Come on, we're at a party! A festival! Everyone get yourselves a cup of raksi and chill the fuck out. Tell some jokes, yar! Let's hear a bit of laughter."

"Not you though," Achal tells him. "After that thing about training up eagles, you're not allowed to makes jokes anymore. Pass the momo? Thanks."

Pranav hands him the plate of dumplings. "I remember that. Cheap labour, _cheep, cheep_! Okay, so it wasn't my greatest work ever. It's wartime, everything's rationed, humour included. I'll have those momo when you're done with them, by the way. What's the filling?"

"Yak, I think."

"Oh, excellent! You know," Pranav says, nudging Ajay with his shoulder, "I thought about becoming a vegetarian once. But then I realised it would be a huge missed steak! Get it? Missed-"

"Wow," Ajay says, raising his voice to be heard over Achal's tortured groan. "That's....actually not too bad."

Banhi shakes her head. "Don't encourage him, yar, or he'll never quit. Trust me on this. And then suddenly you're making these terrible jokes along with him. Before you know it, you've moved in with him, and he's waking you up in the mornings with tea and calling you his darling _Banhi-rabbit_."

"Hey," Pranav says, "I did that once. _Once!_ Now I know better. Still haven't come up with anything decent for Achal though, it's driving me nuts. But I'll get there."

"You should hear him after a few days of down time," Achal says wryly. "It's like something comes loose in his head, he's just unbearable. That one time we were in De Pleur's territory tracking food shipments to the City of Pain? Four days of nothing but watching the roads, and by the end of it I was ready to kill him. You think this is bad? It's not. _That_ was bad."

Pranav grins at him. "You could almost say it was... ap- _Paul_ -ling."

"Sabal is going to gut you," Achal tells him. "And I hope I'm there to see it happen. That man has the sense of humour of a stone."

" _Boys_ ," Banhi says warningly. "Behave, or I'll leave you both to fend for yourselves in the cruel, unloving world. And we all know how _that_ would end up. Hey, is that jalebi I'm seeing? Are they passing around jalebi? Great, that's my favourite. Someone bring it over here."

"I thought you were going off it," Pranav says. He stands and reaches politely across their neighbours to fetch the plate of deep fried sweets. "Something about gaining weight? Which, like I said before, is bullshit."

"No, I was just doing that to piss off Omkari because she was getting plump. How was I supposed to know she was pregnant?"

"It's actually a sad story," Achal says to Ajay. "So, just your usual tale of Kyrati misery. Omkari's husband died seven months ago; Royal Army got to him, they dragged him off to the mines and shot him when he wouldn't work. But Omkari's tough as nails, she never even took a day off work apart from the funeral. Never asked for help with money or food. We've been sharing anything we have to spare, but she'll never ask."

"I thought she was overdoing it on the ghee, you know, like comfort eating," Banhi says. "Oops. You know she was doing sniper cover for other missions, and armed escort for our deliveries, right up until she went into labour? Imagine launching grenades at helicopters with a baby about to pop out. That's badass."

"Holy shit, yeah it is."

"Uh-huh. You know, I'm going to tell her you agreed. 'Ajay Ghale thinks you're badass', she'll like that. She really wants to meet you. I've told her _so_ many stories."

"Some of them were even true," Achal says. "How about that?"

"Incoming," Pranav says suddenly. "Everyone try not to look too guilty. Hope you all prayed this morning, because I may have forgotten."

"You know I never bother. The gods died a long time ago and I have better things to do than talk to ashes in the wind." Achal turns in his seat to watch the priest heading their way. "Wonder what he wants?"

The priest comes to a stop by their table, nodding politely. "Ajay Ghale?"

"Yeah," Ajay says. "That's me. Am I needed?" He finishes his tea and stands, Pranav shuffling over so he has space to slide out from the bench.

The priest gives him a stiff smile. "The Tarun Matara has retired to a private room to pray and meditate on the day's events. In her absence, we are holding a council to discuss the path Kyrat's future will take. The regent requests your company. Of course, if you find yourself otherwise occupied..."

"No, I'll come." _Outsider_ , Ajay hears. _Ignorant stranger._ He doesn't miss the fact that Bhadra's apparently been spirited away from this private discussion. Has to wonder if that'll be a theme from now on. If there'll be so much resistance to his _own_ involvement that these invitations will dry up, once people start remembering that he knows almost nothing about Kyrat. Its history, religion, traditions. All the foundations of Sabal's rule; Ajay's a strange choice for right hand. He's pretty sure everyone's realised that by now. Except maybe Sabal.

The meeting takes place in a back room, tucked away in the labyrinthine chambers and corridors that stretch underground behind the monastery's main temple. Their existence is still a surprise, though Ajay can see the reasoning for it; the priests and holy men have to live somewhere, and once upon a time this monastery would have been bustling with pilgrims. Still, he's stunned by the _size_ of it.

Sabal is sitting at the head of the table, talking quietly with Raju. He looks up as Ajay enters; smiles, beckons him over. The seat on his right is empty. Ajay takes it.

"Enjoying your first Kyrati festival?" Sabal asks him. "It's a shame I couldn't be out there with you, but that can't be helped."

Ajay accepts the metal cup of water a priest hands him. It's chilled; tastes filtered. That means electricity. He wonders if he should add it to Achal's list of _things we didn't know the monastery had_. Right up there with ample food supplies and no shortage of alcohol. "That's okay, you have responsibilities. I get it. And the festival's _amazing_ , everyone looks so relaxed."

"The Dhami tells me you're making friends." Sabal nods at the priest who fetched Ajay over. "That's good; I don't want you feeling isolated here. Kyrat is your home now."

_How long was he watching us?_ Ajay wonders, offering the man a polite smile. _That's...not creepy at all. Jesus._ "I'm okay, thanks. People are cool, really welcoming."

"Glad to hear it."

More priests enter, these ones carrying trays of small yellow snacks, like little gold balls. _Laddu,_ they tell Ajay when he asks. _Served at weddings and special occasions._ He pretends he can't see the intent expressions on people's faces when he tries his first one; the ubiquitous expectations, and inevitable smiles that break out when he tells them he likes the crumbly sweets. As if he was going to say anything else.

He should be used to this by now. They don’t _mean_ to make him feel like an outsider. They just want to make sure he’s happy here.

Thankfully, the meeting starts as soon as everyone's seated.

"Welcome, everyone," Raju says, gesturing to the table. Ajay follows Sabal's example, bowing his head as Raju opens proceedings with some kind of prayer to Kyra. Not in English. And hey, that's fair. He keeps his eyes on the table and waits out the couple of minutes it takes to end. After that, it's straight to business.

"We begin with the remains of Pagan's army, of course," Sabal says. "Wipe the slate clean and start afresh. I don't want to spend the next few decades worrying about guerrilla attacks from pockets of resistance we missed."

Raju nods his agreement. "An example must be made. We've had discussions on the matter, while awaiting your arrival; there will need to be trials, an investigation into war crimes and acts of treason... Shanath Arena would be a suitable venue, for both trials and the executions that must follow. Kyra have mercy."

"Agreed."

Ajay looks up from playing with his cup of water and hoping nobody asks him for an opinion. "Hold up," he says. Because someone has to, and it doesn't look like there are any other volunteers forthcoming. "Wasn't Pagan conscripting people near the end? What, are you going to treat De Pleur's lieutenants the same as guys who got made to join so their families wouldn't be murdered? That's not right."

It's a relief when Sabal nods at him. Unexpected. And isn't _that_ a frightening thought. "You make a good point, brother. Unfortunately, official records are unreliable here. If we can even find them. Soldiers started setting fire to administrative buildings the moment we hit Rajgad Gulag. Most of our evidence is going to be hearsay."

"And you're talking about _executions_ , based on hearsay?"

"Kyra will guide our hands in this," says a priest across the table. "She would not allow the death of anyone _truly_ innocent. Eyewitness testimony, character references; both will be more than sufficient, and any shortfall can be made up in prayer and contemplation. Shanath Arena has a shrine, I take it?"

"If there isn't one now, I'll see that it's built," Sabal tells the man.

"You do the gods' work, regent. We are grateful."

_Not the answer I was looking for_ , Ajay thinks. He removes his hands from the table, resting them on his thighs where no one will see them clench and shake with rage. "And are you going to make Bha- the Tarun Matara watch these trials? The executions? Is she going to have to order them personally?"

He almost wants to laugh at the looks people give him. Horrified, like he just suggested something truly terrible. Way worse than killing people because someone who knows them says that they probably deserve it. Way worse than holding _war crimes trials_ on the bloodstained sands of Shanath Arena. "What?" he asks. "Does she have a 'get out of executions free' card now? That's news to me."

"She would be sullied by exposure to the evils we'll no doubt have to confront," Raju tells him. Slow, like he's speaking to a child. "Her purity would be tainted. No. The Tarun Matara will not be in attendance at the trials."

"So where's she going? Back to Banapur?"

"Actually, that's a good question," Sabal says. "I had hoped she might reside at Jalendu Temple, but that was before I saw that state it's in right now. Restoration will be a mission and a half. She can't stay there in the meantime. And Banapur will make a useful base of operations, but it's missing a temple. That hasn't been an issue in the past, but now..."

Raju shrugs. He lifts his hands in a gesture of welcome. "It's a simple matter; she stays here. The monastery will see that she's cared for in the appropriate manner, and it's conveniently located for pilgrims looking to ask her blessing."

"Sure, if you don't mind us building a couple of guard towers nearby,” Ajay says. “Maybe setting up turrets at the main entrances, checkpoints for visitors, that kind of thing. Because if you start advertising that you've got the Tarun Matara living here, you _will_ have company. Not all of it friendly."

"We survived the last attack," Raju says, and Ajay has to keep himself from laughing in the man's face.

"Chances are I won't be there next time. If...the Tarun Matara is staying here, then you need to be thinking safety before ceremony. And you can't just let random _pilgrims_ wander in to see her, not without some kind of security check. Even with that, she's going to need guards who know what they're doing."

_Protect her,_ he thinks. _Keep her safe when I can’t, she’s the best thing this country has going for it._

"I encourage you all to listen to my second," Sabal says, giving Ajay a quick smile that vanishes when he turns back to the priests. "For the sake of the Tarun Matara's safety, I can spare soldiers. They'll need to be garrisoned at the monastery on a permanent basis. I'll also supply any resources required to fortify the area. Ajay, can you scope out the terrain, work out the best defences? It can wait until tomorrow, of course."

"I wasn't going to do it in the dark," Ajay says wryly. "Sure, I can do that. Might be a good idea if you decide on who you're leaving in charge here; they should get some input on the firepower we give them."

"I'll have names for you by evening tomorrow."

"Thanks."

"And in the meantime," Sabal says, "I'm dedicating the next few days to strategy meetings. My hold on Kyrat is shaky, and there are a great many problems that'll need to be addressed. We have villages on the edge of starvation, useful farmland converted to opium plantations, and the financial situation is currently a mystery. We need to decide on where to start."

"The Kyra shrines need restoring and re-blessing," says a priest. "Every village should have their place of communal worship, as they used to before Pagan decreed it illegal and tore our sacred places apart. Restore our gods to the people, and you give us back our soul. It's the right place to start."

Ajay doesn't roll his eyes. He's not really sure what he expected of a strategy meeting at a monastery; obviously these people have an agenda. Never mind the _starvation_ , or the fact that they don't have anything resembling a government yet. The Kyra shrines must come first.

He's suddenly very much aware of just how tired he is. Sabal must be feeling it even worse, though he hides it well. Ease of long practice, probably. Ajay doesn't have that kind of discipline; now the thought of sleep is present, it's all he can focus on. He turns away from the conversation to hide a yawn. When he turns back, Sabal is looking at him.

"And on that note, it's past time we all retired for the night," he says. "Because if Ajay doesn't pass out right here at the table, I might. I think we can all agree that would be a little..."

"Awkward," Ajay supplies. "Yeah. I vote we call it a night, maybe sleep on stuff before we start planning a country's future."

"Of course. Will you join us for prayer?" Raju asks.

It takes Ajay several seconds to work out he's not the one being addressed here. Of course he isn't. People have been pretty good about the whole non-religious thing, so far. Sure, he got a tour of the monastery, lit some incense and threw some power on a fire. Watched a sacrifice and admired the architecture. But nobody actually thinks he came out of it _enlightened_. And while Sabal can be a little heavy about the Kyra thing sometimes, he's not overly forceful. Ajay doesn't pray; it's just another fact of life, like Pranav's shitty puns and Sabal's...general lack of a sense of humour.

"I'd be honoured," Sabal says. "It's been too long since I last left tribute at the shrine here."

"Don't stay up too late," Ajay tells him. He can't help himself, and can't hold in a laugh at the look Sabal gives him. "You're...not the easiest guy to deal with when you're tired. You yell at old people, for starters. That's really not cool."

"And here I thought you were my right hand. _Not_ my mother."

"I'm kind of starting to think it might be the same thing." He gives the priests a tired wave, touching Sabal's shoulder as he gets up to leave.

"We'll have another group meeting around midday tomorrow," Sabal says, reaching up to give Ajay's wrist a reassuring squeeze. "But I'll probably need you before that, so don't go wandering off too far."

"You got it. Enjoy your prayer meet, guys."

He leaves them to it.


	3. Trial by Fire

It’s another clear day when Ajay steps out of the monastery, stretching happily in the morning light. Running hot water is another thing on the list of _what the fuck is this doing in a monastery_ , but he’s not complaining. Showers can get pretty few and far between in Kyrat. In the bigger towns, sure, Utkarsh and Banapur and Tirtha among them. But more often than not, he’s just had to make do. This sure makes a nice change from cold lake baths with the demon fish.

The monastery is quiet. Most people are sleeping in, or having an early breakfast – but Ajay’s always been more of a morning person. Always the first to rise. And it seems like a good idea to get started on that inspection. Find some decent vantage points, identify the various entrances before the place starts getting busy and he can’t go two steps without someone trying to talk to him. Who else is going to be up at this time?

He’s not the only person outside.

Ajay makes a beeline for the flash of gold cloth, huddled small and lonely in the shadow of the pond-side Kyra shrine. Bhadra. Alone this time, perched on an ornate carved wooden throne.

She's on display again. As she always seems to be these days, except when she's bundled up and removed from the vicinity of any and all important discussions. Politics, planning; Sabal would probably say she'd be tainted by them. Better to keep the Tarun Matara shrouded in her too-large robes and face paint.

 _You should be in school,_ Ajay thinks. He waves as he approaches and Bhadra's eyes light up. For a moment she lifts her arms, as if asking for a hug; the bracelets that cover her, wrist to elbow, catch the sunlight and tinkle like bells. The sound seems to startle her. She lowers her hands back to her lap.

"Hey Bhadra. How are you doing?" Ajay stops on a level with her feet. There's something odd about them; shiny and metallic. He'd assumed she was wearing shoes, but closer inspection proves otherwise. It's a large silver plate, heaped with marigold petals in shades of orange and yellow. She's resting her feet on it.

"I'm okay," Bhadra says. "Thanks. What about you? What are you doing?"

Ajay shrugs. "Recon. Looks like you're going to be staying here a while, so I'm checking out the area and working out what we need to do to keep you safe. Hey, you want guard towers with rocket launchers? How about some guard-rhinos? Like guard dogs, but better. Pretty cool, right?"

"I don't really like rhinos. They're too big."

"Okay, change of plan." Ajay keeps an eye on Bhadra's carefully blank expression. "Honey badgers. No, hear me out. If I get you some babies, you can raise them so they'll protect you. Like, feed them bits of people you don't like while you tell them bedtime stories. It'll work, I promise." She makes a choked sound, her lips twitching, and he carries on. "Yeah, how about...five honey badgers. They can be your honour guard, you can train them to eat people and fetch the newspaper. Which...we don't have yet. But we'll get around to printing one pretty soon. And then what are you gonna do? Who's gonna bring you your newspaper, huh?"

Bhadra ducks her head, muffling a giggle. "I think I probably have people to do that."

"That's true," Ajay says. "Speaking of which. How did you get away from all the aunties? I figured they'd be here making sure I don't...accidentally shake your hand or something. Because that would be really terrible."

"They're washing my clothes for me, I think. Some of them are cleaning their guns over there." Bhadra points towards the pond and the three women sitting on the other side of it. One of them looks up, spots her gesture. Waves at her, and she waves back. Ajay winces; he never noticed them arrive. "I know you think they don't like you, but you're wrong."

"You think?"

"Yes. They're _kind_ , Ajay. Some of them came all the way from Banapur to watch the ceremony and make sure I was alright with being Tarun Matara. They've known me since I was a baby. They told me I could say 'no' if I wanted to. But I didn't."

"Yeah, that's something I don't understand." Ajay gestures at the...everything. The robes, the plate of flowers, the makeup that's starting to crack under Bhadra's helpless smiles. "All this. You sure this is _you_? I mean, is this what you want to do for the rest of your life? Because so far it doesn't really look like anyone's going to let you...help. It's like they expect you to just sit there and listen while people ask you for things you can't actually give."

Bhadra looks down at her hands, her gold rings and painted nails. It's possible she shrugs; under the robes, nobody would ever know. "Sabal says that being Tarun Matara is a blessed life. Kyra and Banashur listen when I pray, and if I please them then they'll give people what they need. I'm going to fix Kyrat, Ajay. I'm proud to do it."

Her small voice doesn't shake; she's fierce, this skinny little girl in bracelets she can't stop playing with. They ring whenever she moves, whenever she breathes. For a moment Ajay doesn't know what to say.

"Sure," he manages. "Okay. I mean, if you're happy here."

"It doesn't matter," Bhadra says. Her face is blank again.

"It _does_ ," Ajay says. "Bhadra, look at me, come on. Of course it matters if you're happy, you- hey, what's wrong?" Her eyes are reddened, slightly puffy; he's ashamed it took him so long to notice. "Who made you cry?"

"Nobody."

"Seriously, give me a name and I'll go tell them to cut it out. Who's picking on you? Who-"

Bhadra shakes her head, while her bracelets ring and ring and she folds her arms to stop them. "Ajay, I'm _fine_. I'm calm, and I'm in communion with the gods, and... Everything is fine. Please. I don't want to talk about this anymore. Can we talk about something else? Please?"

"Okay. We can do that." Ajay raises his hands to pacify her. "Just- if something's wrong, you need to tell me. Or you can go to Sabal; he wouldn't let anyone hurt you. You know that, right?" But he's lost her, he can tell. Bhadra stares off into the distance. Shuts him out like her life depends on it.

He doesn't know what to do. Because there's a little girl here who obviously needs some kind of help- but _what_ kind, he can't begin to guess. And what if she's telling the truth? He can't just assume she's crying because she's hurt. Who would even _dare_ hurt Kyrat's new living goddess on her third day on the job? Maybe it's stress. Maybe she's homesick. Hell, for all he knows it could be hay fever.

The thick marigold musk lingers heavy in the air. Reluctantly, Ajay changes the subject. "So what's with all the flowers? Did the priests decide you smell bad?"

" _No!_ " Bhadra looks up, all childish outrage. "I smell fine, they bathed me just this morning!"

"Uh-huh. So you're sitting in flowers because..."

"It's a custom," she tells him stiffly. "My feet can't touch the ground anymore. But marigolds are sacred, and Raju blessed the plate, so that's alright."

For a moment Ajay's not sure he heard her right. "Hold up. What? Your feet can't touch the… Weren't you standing on the ground yesterday during the road trip?"

"No. You just didn't see the plate. And I was carried up and down the hill, like normal. That's how it's going to be now."

"For _the rest of your life?_ "

"Yes," Bhadra says calmly. "I'm cleansed. I have to stay that way, or Banashur won't want me anymore, and Kyra won't listen to my prayers."

"That's..." _Messed up,_ he doesn't say, but the sentiment must show on his face. Bhadra smiles.

"You just don't understand these customs, Ajay," she tells him. "You haven't been here long enough. They mean a lot to Kyratis, and it's very important to them that I do my best to keep the gods happy. For our future. And I don't mind it so much. It'll be better once I'm allowed to hear pilgrims; they're going to start visiting today, only the priests said they should give me a bit of time outside to pray without interruption. You probably shouldn't be talking to me. But I don't think the gods mind, not if it's you. You saved us."

"I didn't save _you_."

"I'm fine. This is where I need to be now. One day, you'll see that too. And then you can bring me offerings and I'll ask Kyra to be good to you. Though I do that anyway. I hope she listens."

"Great. Thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome."

He's not so sure he wants to keep asking questions. Things like, _so how's the education thing coming along, does it look like they'll let you have lessons?_ and _So what was it Amita was saying about marriage?_ So far the answers haven't exactly been pleasant. To anything.

 _Did you know about all this when you asked me to choose Kyrat's future?_ He has to wonder. _How much of it is a surprise to you?_

"So. You said it doesn't matter if you're happy or not," he says slowly. "Is that because they want you looking miserable? Is it like a requirement for... living goddess-ness?"

Bhadra gives him a patient look. "Ajay, I'm sacred. When petitioners visit, they'll be accompanied by priests who'll watch my every move, and make predictions based on what I do. My expression, how I move my hands. I need to stay very still. That means their wishes will be granted."

"So...no high fives for petitioners. Got it. That would probably start some kind of…frog downpour or something." But whatever she's been told to do, it looks like Bhadra's still having trouble with keeping herself under wraps. She raises a hand to her mouth to hide her laugh.

"Stop it, you'll ruin my makeup," she says. "I don't even know what kind of omen that would be."

"Plagues of rabid honey badgers, probably."

"More like a death in the petitioner’s family _._ But you don't care, do you? You don’t actually believe."

"I care," he says gently. "About you. About making sure you're happy here, and that you're being treated right. I promised Amita I'd keep an eye on you."

"Amita? Is she okay?" Bhadra leans forward abruptly, scattering flower petals off the edge of the silver plate. "Sabal won't tell me where she is, he just says she's gone. He says she's not coming back. But she can't be _dead_. There would have been a funeral. I'd have prayed for her-"

"She's alive," Ajay interrupts. And then, after a guilty look over his shoulder, he lowers his voice. "Just...keep that between us, okay? She's not meant to be."

"I don't understand."

"Look, something- something bad happened, and Amita had to leave. _Quietly_. She wants people to think she died. Otherwise there'll be issues with leadership, and people who supported her might try to start another uprising. And Amita didn't want that. She skipped the country. I'm not sure where she went, but it's definitely not in Kyrat."

There is no easy way to say this to a little girl, who looks several years younger than she should, and younger still when he tells her that someone she probably saw as _family_ won't be coming back. He doesn't know how to handle stuff like this. Maybe he's doing it wrong. Maybe the right thing would have been to let her think Amita died assaulting Pagan's fortress or something.

Anything has to be better than the truth. There's no force in the world that could compel him to say, _Sabal sent me to murder her._

"If it helps, she wasn't on her own," he says. It sounds feeble even to him. "She had a friend with her. Someone she trusted, I guess."

"And Sabal doesn't know." Bhadra's eyes are uncomfortably sharp.

"No. No, Amita asked me to say she was dead."

"But she's not? Promise me. And I’ll know if you lie."

"The last I heard from her, she was alive. Kind of...angry, but alive. I promise."

"Thank you," Bhadra says. She turns her head away. Stares off towards the pond, at the men and women going about their business. "Nobody else would tell me. The priests say I should be omniscient, or I will be once I learn to listen to the whispers of the gods. But I asked about Amita and I didn't hear anything."

"I'm sorry," Ajay says. "I know you were really close to her. She didn't want to leave you behind."

It gets quiet after that. Bhadra stares down at her hands, scratching absently at the red polish on her fingernails. Chipping away at the edges. She's probably not supposed to, but Ajay doesn't have the heart to make her knock it off. Let the priests interpret it as whatever omen they want; maybe they'll realise Bhadra's too smart to be left on her own, bored. Maybe they'll let her bring a book next time.

"You're leaving soon," Bhadra says eventually. "I heard Raju say so. The pilgrims will stay, and some Golden Path soldiers, but most of you are going back to Banapur. I might not see you again for a while."

"You know more than I do. It kind of feels like nobody's really sure what we're supposed to do now."

"It was all so sudden," Bhadra tells him. "Nobody thought we'd be free so soon, _nobody_. You changed a lot of things. And that's wonderful, but now all our leaders have to catch up. We all have a lot of praying to do."

"Yeah, well. I just hope they know what they're doing." He wonders if Bhadra knows about the repurposing of Shanath Arena. If she's been told about the idea for trials, executions. If she knows about the country's food shortages, the poisoned water up north, the trauma victims from Durgesh, the City of Pain, Yuma's mines, Noore's brothels...

" _I_ hope you get to come back here soon," Bhadra says. "You should do. Raju speaks for a lot of holy men, you'll need to stay in touch. And you'll come see me whenever you can, right? I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too," Ajay tell her gently. "Don't worry, I'll come by when I can. And hey, if the food here is always as good as it was last night, I might be around a lot more than you think. They'll have to roll me back to Banapur. I'll be too heavy for a car."

Bhadra laughs; she stops as soon as she starts, covering her face guiltily. "Oops. Loud laughter, that’s a bad omen. But you'll be alright, Ajay. We only have feasts like that for special occasions. The next one will probably be my wedding, Raju says. Whenever _that_ is."

"Uh," Ajay says. "A good ten years from now? Maybe?"

She looks at him like he's just started speaking a completely different language. "No. Probably within the next year. Soon, at least, though obviously things are a little busy right now, and I'm not even engaged yet."

Funny, how often he’s found himself wishing for Amita’s presence in recent days. She was wrong about so many things; he believes that, he stands by it, and he doesn’t regret his past decisions. Amita could not have led Kyrat.

But, god, he misses her voice of reason.

If Amita was here, she wouldn't be standing at Bhadra's feet having a conversation about all the ways her freedom is being restricted. Amita would drag Bhadra down from her little throne, all the way to the pond. She'd wash the paint from Bhadra's face and the flower petals from her feet. She'd give Bhadra some math problems and tell her to go _study_.

Ajay can’t shake the feeling that every word he says is the wrong one.

“Are you sure?” he asks cautiously. “Raju… He might not have meant _this_ soon.”

Bhadra shrugs. "That’s what he said. It's not official yet, so you can't talk to anyone about it. They need to make the proper sacrifices to see if Kyra approves. And obviously my husband has to agree, but Raju says he will because it's a good thing for Kyrat." She sees his blank look and smiles. "I'm going to marry Sabal, Ajay."

" _No_."

It slips out before he's done processing the rest of what she's saying, and then he just feels sick. Horrified. And suddenly all he can hear is Amita, soft and poisonous: _Tradition?_ _Like what...marrying little girls, is that it? Is that your big plan for Bhadra?_ "No," he repeats. "Oh my god, that's- that's wrong on so many levels, I don't even know where to start. Okay. First off, you're a kid-"

"I'm not," Bhadra says. "I'm definitely a woman. I've already started-"

" _And_ he's way too old for you. You've got...your _entire life_ ahead of you, it's a little soon to be thinking about this kind of stuff. When you're older and you find someone you like, sure. But I this creepy idea _Raju_ thinks is good...is not. It's wrong, okay? You don't actually want to do this." He's breathing quickly by the time he's done, which wasn't the plan and probably doesn't help his cause.

Amita would have done it better. By the time she was done, Bhadra would have listened. Understood.

Instead, she shakes her head. "It's fine, Ajay, I really don't mind. This is good for Kyrat; people will listen to Sabal more, like they listened to Mohan Ghale. He married a Tarun Matara too. And anyway." She smiles, and Ajay wants to turn, run, pretend he never saw the expression. "He's very handsome. I wouldn't mind being married to Sabal."

Amita would have known what to say here. Ajay's struck dumb. Helpless. _She's a little kid,_ he tells himself. _A kid with a crush that nobody should be fucking encouraging. What the hell is wrong with people here?_

"Does Sabal know?" he asks at last. Quietly; he doesn’t want to hear the answer. But he has to. Has to know before he can decide on how to react.

"No," Bhadra says promptly, and Ajay breathes a little easier. "Raju will speak to him soon, he says. This is still a secret though. I'm really not supposed to tell anyone. You can keep a secret, right? It’s _important_."

“I can do that,” Ajay says. It’s quite possibly the first lie he tells her. And he regrets it; she deserves someone who’ll only ever tell her the truth, who won’t sugarcoat things she needs to hear. But if anyone was that person, it was Amita. He’s not like that. Not as strong. So he lies instead, and hopes she’ll forgive him.

 _I need to talk to Sabal,_ he thinks. _Like, right now. He can’t approve of this. He never would. I know him._

“Listen,” he says. “I have stuff to do, preferably while it’s still quiet. Are you going to be okay here on your own? You’ll have visitors soon, right?”

“Sure. I’ll be okay. But Ajay, I’m _serious_ about the secret. You really can’t tell anyone. I trust you.”

He nods. There’s not really anything else he can do. But she seems to take comfort in the gesture; some of the anxiety fades from her eyes. She sits a little straighter and stops picking at the polish on her fingers.

"Is there anything I can ask the gods to give you?” she asks. “In thanks? If there's someone you like, maybe I could see if Kyra will let you have her."

"I don't want anything," Ajay says, turning away.

Bhadra speaks to his back. "Or I could pray for someone you've lost? Someone you miss? You've done so much for me, and for all of Kyrat. If there's anyone you want to gods to look kindly on..."

There's work to be done. Guard towers to plan and checkpoints to install and weapons shipments to coordinate. For Bhadra. To see that she stays safe, that nobody hurts her. Kyrat isn't kind to children; to little girls, it's nothing short of monstrous.

"Lakshmana," he says over his shoulder as he leaves. "Pray for Lakshmana. It's too late for anything else."

He’s left…dazed by the conversation. Stunned by the shift in tone, by the sudden, persistent conviction that he’s neck deep in a situation he doesn’t understand. One he’s helpless to change.

And in his head, he’s back at Jalendu. Trying to make it stop, to save the prisoners, to spare Bhadra the sight of all that blood. He was helpless then too. He’d been so sure that Sabal would listen to him. That he’d see sense and do…if not the right thing, then at least the kind one. Wrong, as it turns out.

So many things have been wrong recently.

Ajay spends the next few hours alone; borrows a map from storage and goes wandering around the nearby hills and fields, marking out locations with decent vantage points of both the monastery and its surrounding area. It’s menial work. Lonely, unsupervised. Like most of the work he’s done for the Golden Path, but he’s never minded before. This is the first time he’s wished for company to distract him. A radio call from anyone. Amita, Pagan, Noore. Yuma, even. He’s sick of the inside of his own head.

He could call Sabal and ask outright. He thinks about doing it. The way things are between them, he doesn’t believe Sabal would object to such a question. Maybe he could clear a few things up. Solve the problem.

 _Yeah,_ Ajay thinks. _Sure. Like he did at Jalendu._ He doesn’t call.

Around eleven, Sabal calls _him_.

“Ajay, good morning,” he says. “Did you sleep well? I didn’t see you at breakfast.”

“I’m good. Thanks. Figured I’d get an early start while it’s quiet.”

Sabal laughs, a wry sound Ajay wants to lean into. To trust. “You’re one up on me, brother, I slept right through morning prayers. That road trip was quite the adventure.”

“Sure was.”

“Have you finished the scouting? I know it’s not very interesting work, but at least I can rely on you not to screw it up. You wouldn’t believe some of the incompetence I’ve seen in my time. If you’re done, we should meet to discuss your suggestions.”

“Yeah,” Ajay says. He folds up the map in his hands, shoving it into a pocket. “That’s a good idea. There’s something I wanted to ask you about.”

“I’m all yours. Come find me, I’ll be around the main road up to the monastery. We’re expecting a shipment of supplies from up north. It’s a little late, but with luck the gods will see it arrives safely.”

“Here’s hoping. Okay, I’ll see you soon.”

Sabal is halfway down the gravel monastery road, absent of soldiers and advisers, for once. He’s patrolling; that much is clear from the purpose in his strides, the way his hands linger on the gun at his hip. He shouldn’t be doing that. Can’t afford to anymore, not if he’s serious about this regent thing, about shouldering the burden of leadership for a ruined country. He can’t be going off alone to stalk the silent roads and stress over missing deliveries.

“You know I could have sniped you any time in the last five minutes,” Ajay says, stepping out onto the road. He has the gun to do it with too, slung comfortingly across his back. It’s worn a hollow between his shoulder blades; he never feels quite right without it anymore. “Who’s watching your back?”

“You, brother.” Sabal turns to him, raising a hand in casual greeting. Ajay clasps it, letting himself be pulled into a half hug he’s reluctant to break.

He makes himself step away first. “Sure, this time. But I can’t be out scouting _and_ making sure you’re not standing in someone’s scope. Did you seriously just wander off on your own?”

“We’re still on monastery grounds, I-“

“Because the Royal Army gives a _fuck_ about _monastery grounds?_ ” Ajay interrupts. He sees Sabal’s eyebrows raise, and doesn’t regret his tone. “Or…Amita’s loyalists, or any random civilian you pissed off somehow, you think they care? How about bears? Tigers? Are you gonna tell them they can’t eat you because you’re on _monastery grounds?_ I bet that’ll be really effective.”

Sabal nods slowly. He turns away, rubbing the back of his neck; the look on his face is almost embarrassed. “A fair point, I’ll admit. I let impatience get ahead of me. We’ve lost so many deliveries in the past that I…tend to assume the worst.”

“You can’t,” Ajay says flatly. “You can’t do this anymore. Are you going to let Bhadra go back to patrolling Banapur at night like she used to?”

“Of course not. She’s-”

“Not who she used to be. Yeah, I know. Same goes for a lot of people here.” He falls into step with Sabal; together, they walk the roadside, heading away from the monastery. Slow, careful, checking their surroundings as they go. Feels almost companionable. In concession to this, Ajay moderates his tone. “You realise you’re not the Golden Path leader anymore, right? Regent of Kyrat can’t go wandering off on his own like this.”

Sabal shrugs; his shoulder brushes Ajay’s. “Look, I’m admitting it was a mistake. You’re right. But I can’t just stop myself from worrying about my people, especially when there’s a good chance my actions could be putting them in danger. There are too many deaths on my conscience as it is.”

“I know _that_ feeling.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out quite so acerbic. It does; next to him, Sabal comes to an abrupt stop.

“It was necessary,” he says quietly. Continues before Ajay can ask what he’s referring to, exactly, because it could be a lot of things. “Amita, she was… rabid. Lost. And I’d have done it myself, if circumstances has permitted- but you have to understand, Ajay, I _couldn’t_. Murder my rival on the eve of my victory? What better way to alienate supporters?” He sighs. Then reaches over and pats Ajay’s shoulder, mindful of the gun slung across his back. “We never talked about it, did we? Not really. There wasn’t time. If you’d like to discuss it now-“

“Actually,” Ajay says. “I’d rather talk about Bhadra. Sorry, the _Tarun Matara_. I saw her this morning. She mentioned Raju's been talking to her about getting married." Ajay keeps his eyes on the ground. Well away from Sabal. "Like, soon. You're not... What are your thoughts on this? Because I'm really not comfortable with it."

"I'd say your instincts are in the right place, brother. And it's the first I've heard of this."

Ajay looks up, startled. He shouldn't be. He should have known without having to ask. "So you think it's wrong? She's so young-"

"She's the Tarun Matara," Sabal interrupts. "Bride to the god Banashur. Traditionally that makes her ineligible for marriage with anyone else. I understand that for some people the thinking has changed in recent times, but I'm not one of them."

"Wasn't my Mom Tarun Matara? How does that work?"

"There's a...precedent. A loophole, you could call it. She was engaged to Mohan before the gods recognised her as Tarun Matara. Banashur knew about this prior commitment, and gave it his blessing."

"Okay," Ajay says, trying to process this. "But Bhadra wasn't engaged to anyone. So, what, it's wrong for her to get married now?"

"Might as well spit in the faces of the gods," Sabal agrees. "It's sacrilege of the highest order. No. I'll have words with Raju about this, see that he stops putting impossible ideas into her head. It's not right. He should have known better."

" _Thank you_ ," Ajay says fervently. He's almost giddy with relief. "I just- she mentioned it and I kind of freaked out a little."

"Did you?"

"Just a little."

"Out of interest," Sabal says, "Who does she think she'll be marrying? Me? Or you?" He meets Ajay's horrified expression with a quiet laugh. Pats Ajay's shoulder in reassurance. "Lucky guess, I take it?"

"Uh, _yeah_. What gave it away?"

"I know how these things work." He shrugs. "Judging by your surprise, I take it I was the intended groom. I've had holy men dropping hints about marriage in my ear for months now. They're not wrong, either; it's a good way to solidify alliances, just not one I intend to use. I'll build my mine on a basis of strength and respect. Nothing else."

"Well, you won't have any problems with that," Ajay says. "It’s working pretty well on me."

"A mutual sentiment." Sabal gives him a smile, just a hair too warm to pass for friendly. “And besides. There’s an old legend regarding any man who marries a Tarun Matara; it’s said he’ll die within six months, coughing up blood, as punishment for offending the gods.”

“ _Ouch._ ”

“Best not to risk it,” Sabal agrees. “I’ll take care of this, brother. Put it from your mind.”

“Done. Thank you. I mean it, I was… yeah. Worried.” And maybe it’s not such a good idea to bring it up, but he’s almost dizzy, loose with relief; he says, “I just couldn’t stop thinking about that thing Amita mentioned. Back when you- we decided to go after Noore. She sounded so sure-“

“And you believed her.”

“No, I just… I don’t know. She said it, and then _Bhadra_ said it, I didn’t know what to think.”

 _Nice one,_ he thinks. _Way to go fuck it up like you always do. Fuck._ The look on Sabal’s face is crushing in its severity. Distance. He goes so far as to step away from Ajay, like being any closer makes his skin crawl.

“It never occurred to you to ask me?” Sabal asks coolly. “I’m disappointed, brother. After everything, I’d have thought I deserved a little more faith from you.”

“I’m sorry. You guys just… made it hard to know who to believe.”

“Amita,” Sabal says, “Was a _liar_. Oh, she was a skilled tactician, and an impeccable soldier on top of that- I won’t deny her the credit she deserves. But you have to realise she wasn’t the thing she presented herself as. She knew what stories would get to you. How they would affect you.” He turns away, shaking his head. “I’m partly to blame here. I should have gone after you and explained, instead of letting Amita’s poison sink in and do its damage. You weren’t to know.”

Ajay wants to believe it. It’s his weakness, one he’s been aware of for a long time now. It’s the thing that gets him into trouble, again and again. He wants to believe the best of people. That they wouldn’t lie to him, or hurt him in anyway.

It’s the reason for those long, lonely years of estrangement from Ishwari. All the times he screwed around; skipped school to smoke in the bus shelter with his new _friends;_ tore up report cards before she could see them, and lied about his grades; changed his name and refused to answer to anything else: the first and only time he remembers seeing her cry. Because she lied to him. And all he ever really wanted from her was the truth. _Who am I? Where do I come from?_

He’s wasted a lot of time on feeling hard done by. And he gets it, now; he messed himself up because he couldn’t accept that maybe Ishwari had good reasons for her silence. Should have just trusted her. He got there in the end, when he was ready to deal with what was waiting.

Trust comes easy, when he reaches for it.

“I believe you,” Ajay says. “And you’re right, I should have just asked. Next time I will. Sorry.”

The tension leaves Sabal’s expression as quickly as it formed, gone like it never existed. He smiles; beckons, and they resume their stroll along the roadside. “Nobody’s at fault here, Ajay. There was a misunderstanding; that’s on me. I should have realised you might need an explanation.” He walks close enough that their hands keep brushing, and Ajay fumbles a few awkward apologies before realising they’re not necessary, and it’s not an accident.

 _We could totally hold hands right now,_ he thinks, and immediately feels ridiculous. Of all the things to fixate on.

“We _should_ talk, though,” Sabal says in a conversational tone. He’s back in patrol mode, restlessly eyeing the road, the trees, the hills in the distance. Still walks a little too close. And Ajay lets him. “What happened to Amita… I regret that, I truly do. She worked as hard as anyone, and while I rarely agreed with her methods we did share several common goals. Peace. Freedom from Pagan and his oppression. I just wish she’d backed down while there was still time. As is it, she left me with no other choice.”

“I still think we could have negotiated,” Ajay objects. It’s a weak response, even to his own ears. He sounds more pleading than pissed off. His hand brushes Sabal’s again; Sabal takes hold of his wrist, fingers pressing in just hard enough that Ajay can feel his own pulse pound. Until they can both feel it stutter, and quicken.

“You didn’t know Amita like I did,” Sabal tells him gently. “Given the chance, she’d have happily sent you after _me_. We did what we had to. What the gods required of us.” He squeezes Ajay’s wrist again. “Are you alright with that, brother? At peace with your actions? I’ve been a little worried about you. If you have questions or concerns, if there’s anything you want to tell me… I hope you won’t keep it to yourself. I’m here for you. I’ve got your back, any time you need me.”

“You said that before,” Ajay mumbles. He pulls his hand free, but the skin of his wrist retains Sabal’s touch like cooling embers in a campfire. “After Durgesh.”

“We never talked about that either, did we? Ajay…” and then Sabal stops, letting out a gust of relieved breath. “And there’s the truck, unless I miss my mark. Thank Kyra. I really wasn’t comfortable leaving those relics in Jalendu Temple; they’re safer at the monastery for the moment. I should have known the gods would deliver them to us safely.”

Sure enough, a laden truck winds its way into view, manoeuvring corners with an excess of care that probably explains why it arrived so late. Sabal salutes the driver as the truck approaches. Ajay waves. They step further back from the road to let the vehicle pass, throwing up dust and pebbles in its wake. The crates secured in its bed weigh it low; deep tire tracks stretch out along the road it travelled.

 _Shit,_ Ajay thinks. _They must’ve stripped the temple bare._ He has a sneaking suspicion he may be looking at a truckload of solid gold. Maybe a few statues thrown in, but the majority will be the relics that Pagan had stashed away in Jalendu’s basement. They’d be a dream come true for newly unemployed Royal Army soldiers, or anyone looking to fund another rebellion.

“I think we’re going to need a few more guard towers,” Ajay says, watching the truck wind its way towards to monastery. “That…looks like a lot of gold. Wow. You think Longinus can get us rocket launchers?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Sabal shrugs. He gestures back the way they came, an _after you_ that Ajay can’t help but smile at.

“Dude’s pretty great like that,” he agrees. “Okay, uh, so. About those defences we’re putting up around the monastery. I want to revise what I said earlier, we’re going to need some pretty heavy artillery here. I marked a couple of spots on the map we could use…”

The day passes quickly, as they tend to in Kyrat. Gone are the long, lazy weekends he remembers from back home; nothing ever _stops_ here. And maybe that has something to do with the fact that he spends all his time with rebel soldiers in a war-torn country. Possibly there’s a connection with the whole _starvation_ thing, and maybe even the _up until recently ruled by a crazy warlord and his three even crazier governors_ thing. Hard to really relax in that situation; he’s never seen so many people carrying guns. And he’s from _America_.

They unload relics, helped and hindered in equal measure by the pilgrims who line up in droves to come see their new Tarun Matara. Then come the weapons, army rations, blankets and medical supplies. Ajay stacks crates with everyone else, until he’s called away for another meeting. It proceeds like the last. The priests push their agenda. Sabal smiles and agrees to their requests for new Kyra shrines, restoration of damaged temples and belltowers, the use of Pagan’s old printing presses for disseminating religious pamphlets. He smiles, and nobody brings up food shortages.

Or maybe they do. Occasionally there’ll be a language shift, like a plot twist everyone’s following except Ajay; they’ll carry on the meeting in effortless Hindi and Ajay will sit there and wait. During breaks in the conversation Sabal leans over to murmur a translation in his ear. And he trusts that it’s accurate, that Sabal isn’t paraphrasing too much, or worse - censoring. He has no way of knowing.

It’s only fair, he supposes. Some of the older priests don’t have much in the way of English; they rely on their neighbours to provide explanations when things get a little too complicated. Roughly half and half isn’t too bad.

But. There are a couple of moments where voices start to raise, gestures get sharp, and the level of emotional investment doesn’t seem to match up to what Sabal is telling him. _Disagreement on a matter of scripture_ , he says, his breath warm on Ajay’s cheek. Only, Ajay is perfectly capable of recognising _Banashur_ and _Kyra,_ and he hasn’t heard either. Water spills when someone slams a fist onto the table.

 _Must be a pretty intense scripture thing_ , he thinks, and looks to Sabal. But Sabal is talking to someone else, and that’s not in English either, and maybe Ajay’s just being paranoid here.

The conversation switches languages again soon after, and they’re discussing the fortifications for the monastery. Ajay says his piece. Shows his map, his suggestions. Everyone looks to Sabal before expressing approval, but that’s to be expected. Why trust the outsider? The stranger with an unknown background, who probably doesn’t deserve to be sitting where he is, except that he _is_. And he’s just as perplexed by it as anyone else.

“Sure, it’s a little odd,” Banhi says over dinner. “But maybe not. We’re not blind, you know, and the Kyrati gossip network is as strong as ever.”

“All those aunties,” Pranav agrees.

“Precisely. We may be starving, and our literacy rate might be at a shocking all-time low, but we can still gossip like nobody’s business. Everyone knows who it was that did most of the work. We know who captured De Pleur, who killed Noore and Yuma and Pagan. You’re a bit of a national hero, Ajay.”

“Tea?” Achal passes Ajay a cup and pours one for himself. “It’s not just that. All those hostages you rescued. The hunting you did for villages, the people you saved from animal attacks. Seems like everyone knows _someone_ you did something for, you know? Most of the north doesn’t even know what the new regent looks like, but they’ve all heard of you. This country is in your debt, and we know it. You’re a good man.” He lifts his cup, bows his head a little. And for a second it’s awkward as fuck, until Pranav leans over and deftly snatches the cup from Achal’s fingers. He drains it in one long swallow.

“Knock it off,” he says, giving Achal his empty cup back. “Ajay doesn’t want any of that. He’s just another guy like the rest of us, and all he wants from the gods is freedom, food, raksi, and to get laid every now and then. As do we all.”

“You get laid plenty,” Banhi tells him. “Don’t even try saying otherwise.”

“That’s true; we may all be starving and illiterate and terrified we’ll get shot every time we leave our houses, but at least the rivers of _loooooove_ are still overflowing.” He makes an obscene gesture with one hand, winking at Achal, who shakes his head.

“I don’t know why we let this one out in public,” he says to Banhi. She rolls her eyes.

“Feel free to ignore anything Pranav says,” she tells Ajay. “He’s _not_ representative of the Kyrati people; we’re normally a lot more cultured than this overgrown lout.”

“I’m cultured!” Pranav argues. “I’ve got more culture than this bowl of yak yoghurt, and I’m a lot more nutritious besides. Chop me into bits and cook me up and I’d feed a family of five, easy. And their dog too. Can this bowl of yoghurt say the same? I don’t think so.”

“That…would be so much funnier if there wasn’t _actual_ cannibalism going on,” Ajay says.

“Right,” Banhi says. She draws a wicked-looking knife from somewhere inside her Golden Path uniform and lays it on the table next to her plate. “I’m putting a moratorium on the topic. Next person to bring up cannibalism at meal time gets this knife right through their soft parts. Good luck with your _rivers of love_ after _that_.”

“I’m going to change the subject now, if that’s alright with everyone,” Achal says.

“I’ll allow it,” Pranav tells him graciously. “For the sake of our soft parts. I’m very attached to mine, they’re pretty much my only redeeming feature.”

They linger when they’ve finished eating, when the monastery’s countless residents and pilgrims come by and clear the tables around them, refusing all offers of help. Seems like a common theme; anyone in a Golden Path uniform is being gently waved away from cleanup duty. And it’s not like he’s wearing one, but…

People know him. Strangers greet him by name (or, unnervingly often, as _son of Mohan,_ and the sooner they cut that shit out, the better). They’ve heard of him from friends and family, from people he helped out when it looked like no one else would – and it’s not like he was doing it out of any particular desire to become Kyrat’s answer to Zorro. All he wanted to do was try mend some of the incomprehensible damage done to this country.

And now everyone knows him. Ajay has to wonder how Sabal feels about this; if he’s happy to exploit this unprecedented popularity freely; if it bothers him at all. He’s been fighting the same war for god knows how many years, and then an outsider shows up to turn the tide and score them a victory in the space of months. That can’t be an easy thing to accept.

Maybe they can find time to talk about it.

“Lighten up, friend,” Achal says, and Ajay comes back to reality with a start.

“Huh?

“You’re drifting. And fair enough too; I find mental distance is the most effective way of dealing with Pranav’s unique sense of humour. Reduces the mental scarring.”

“I love you too, Achal,” Pranav says. “ _So_ much so that I may just have to put sacred monastery pond mud into your sleeping bag tonight. I hear it’s very good for the karma. Really increases your chances of reincarnating as something interesting, and it also doubles as a moisturiser for people with dry and flaky skin. I’m just saying.”

Achal pointedly turns his back on the other man. “Anyway, as I was saying to Ajay, and only to Ajay. If you’re tired you can go crash any time you want; it wouldn’t offend anyone. But if you wanted to kill time with a few beers around a campfire…”

“Totally government sanctioned,” Banhi says. “As in, the regent is going to be there to make sure we don’t violate any non-existent noise pollution laws. Or get completely wasted and start trying to build mud castles on the pond bank. Again. Not that I’m pointing any fingers here, because I’ve discussed this at length with the guilty parties and we’ve all agreed it doesn’t need to be talked about any more.” She raises her eyebrows, inviting comment, and doesn’t hide her disappointment when nobody dares. “It’s just going to be a quiet few drinks of some beer we…liberated from a Royal Army supply truck a few weeks back. Down by the Kyra statue outside, you know. The Tarun Matara was there today.”

“And we’re allowed to do this?” Ajay asks. “Like…right outside the monastery?”

Pranav shrugs. He pushes himself to his feet, one hand on the table and the other on Achal’s shoulder. “I don’t think anyone was planning to tell the priests. Besides, Sabal will be there. What do you think the chances are we can get him really, hilariously drunk and then paint a huge moustache on his face? I feel like Kyra would approve.”

“Um,” Ajay says. “That’s probably not a good idea.”

“Yeah, well. I guess you know him better than we do.” Banhi gives him a smile, a sidelong look that could mean so many things, all of which she’d deny if he called her on them. Ajay makes himself look away. He stands, zipping his open jacket back up as he does.

“Guess I’m coming to the campfire thing.”

“Excellent,” Pranav says, slinging an arm around Ajay’s shoulders; the other is already wrapped around an impatient Achal. “Banhi, light of my existence, will you lead the way? I have to show up with a babe on each arm, there’s a law. I don’t make these rules, guys, just go with it.”

Ajay goes with it; shares a look with Achal behind Pranav’s back, and then turns away before he can ruin things by laughing. “Sure,” he says. His voice shakes a little. “I mean, that’s a pretty weird law, but I guess we’d better do what it says. I don’t want to get arrested, I don’t know how I’d explain it to Bhadra.”

“Ah, it’s not the strangest law this country’s seen.” Banhi leads the way out of the main temple, down the long hallway to the heavy wooden front doors.

“True,” Pranav agrees. “That Pagan was _crazy_ about making stuff illegal. Most of the time he never even gave a reason for it! Like the candles. Nobody ever worked out what _candles_ did to piss him off, but it must have been terrible. Huh. Maybe he was afraid they’d promote desertion in the Royal Army. You know, because if there were too many candles around, his soldiers might get en- _light_ -ened.”

“This one time,” Banhi says loudly over Achal’s complaints, “Pagan actually made Amita and Sabal illegal. I know, right? How can you make someone illegal in a country, if they’ve got nowhere else to go? Where are you supposed to deport them to, anyway?”

Outside, she leads them slowly down the stone steps. It’d be easier to keep up with her if Pranav would let them all walk separately, but he doesn’t seem all that inclined to let go. Ajay treads carefully and hopes they don’t take Banhi down with them when they inevitably slip and fall.

On the grass in front of the small Kyra statue, a campfire is burning merrily in a fire pit that definitely wasn’t there this morning. Various crates and blankets are scattered in a loose circle around it. Most are already occupied; looks like the party started early. Ajay spots the shine of glass in several boxes. Beer, mostly, but some of the bottles look a little more serious. Whiskey, or even vodka. Must have been a pretty serious supply truck they robbed.

Ajay tunes back in to find Banhi still talking. “-so obviously he was angry with us, I mean, we took one of his outposts, shot all the soldiers there, freed the hostages. And let me tell you, Pagan was scariest when he was angry. We knew he was going to order a retaliation strike, we just didn’t think it would be that petty.”

“He issued statement on live TV,” Achal explains, catching Ajay’s confused look. “Or maybe one of his doubles did, we’ll never know. But whoever it was broadcasted this to the entire country. Banned Amita and Sabal from Kyrat.”

“Not even because of the terrorist activity,”Pranav cackles. “He said he was banning them for being, wait for it… _Too fucking pretty._ Said it just wasn’t acceptable, he didn’t want them in his country. Because they were too attractive. The looks on their faces when they found out, I hear it was amazing. They were so offended.”

“Only time I’ve ever seen them agree on something,” Banhi says.

“We’re still not sure if he was actually serious about it.” Achal manoeuvres them down the last few steps, wincing as Pranav slips and his grip turns into a stranglehold. “ _Agh._ Would you stop that? Thank you. Anyway, a few weeks later we lost the outpost again, and Amita and Sabal went back to trying to shout each other into backing down. And I guess it’s not an issue anymore; Amita’s dead, Sabal’s basically king. He can just reinstate his citizenship.”

“That’s…still amazing. Or scary. Or both.” _Sounds like something Pagan would do,_ Ajay thinks. _He was never scared of the Golden Path. They couldn’t touch him. They only really started to matter when I showed up and they rescued me. Not that they needed to._

But he’s not ready for that line of thought; it’s stayed on lockdown since Pagan _left_ (didn’t die, the way people are saying. The king did not fall, and his defeat is nobody’s triumph. He got bored of running things and _left_ ). Wasn’t even a week ago now. And as with a lot of things that have happened recently, Ajay pushes it aside to deal with later, in another week or month or whenever. Just…later. He’s earnt a little respite. A vacation. Fuck, if nothing else, Kyrat owes him that.

“What’s this?” someone calls as they reach the circle of crates around the campfire. Crackling untended; the air smells of woodsmoke and beer. “Did you let Pranav get started on the raksi early?”

“He wanted to show up in _style_ ,” Banhi says. “And I’m not pretty enough to score a place in his harem. Is that Shangri Lager? Toss me a bottle, Radhika, I’m parched.” She catches the bottle a woman throws her, settling down on the grass in front of an unoccupied crate. Pranav moves to follow her and Ajay ducks out from under his arm.

“That’s….not going to fit all three of us,” he says with a laugh. “You guys have fun.”

“Ajay, over here.”

Sabal has his own space in the circle, his back to the Kyra statue and the steps leading up to it. The ground around his feet is still scattered with marigolds; bruised and trodden into the dirt by the feet of Bhadra’s pilgrims that morning. He beckons. Ajay goes to him.

“I saved you a spot,” Sabal says, twisting the cap off a bottle of beer and passing it to Ajay. He nods to the space at his side; _room for the both of us,_ his expression says. And maybe it’s the atmosphere, alcohol and laughter, the ease in everyone’s limbs, but Ajay is struck by a sudden urge to mischief. He ignores the place Sabal offers him, folding his legs and settling instead at Sabal’s feet. Leaning comfortably back against the crate.

“Thanks,” he says, tilting his head to smile up at Sabal. “What brought this on? You never mentioned it earlier.”

“A spontaneous decision. It’s been a rough few weeks, and we all need a chance to unwind. Get to know the new people in our circle.” Sabal’s fingers twitch on the crate by Ajay’s head. He doesn’t move them closer.

Ajay sips his beer and looks around the circle at the faces he does and doesn’t recognise. He’s fought with a lot of these people. Rescued a few, or their families. Some he knows by name; others by appearance. Most have been at one or more of the meetings Sabal held, admission by invitation only. The ones Amita was never party to.

 _Inner circle,_ Ajay thinks. He leans his head back against the lip of the crate, comfortable. Complacent. There’s a sense of safety here that was lacking at Jalendu, at the meetings in the monastery’s back rooms. These are Sabal’s people. And yeah, he feels good about being among them. He doesn’t miss that he was saved a place of honour. Didn’t miss the naked approval in Sabal’s expression when Ajay chose the ground at his feet instead.

He could tilt his head and rest it against Sabal’s knee if he wanted. He doesn’t just yet. Might change his mind later; who knows where the evening’s headed.

“So this is cosy,” he says. “How come we never did this before? I’d have been down.”

“Too busy stressing,” says the woman Banhi called Radhika. Her face is lined, weathered; her smile shines bright in the shadows. “And Amita never liked it. Too many officers in one place, too much alcohol being consumed, she said. But she never really knew how to relax. Always too busy to let off steam with her soldiers.”

“Unless there was opium involved, then she didn’t mind so much!” That comes from a man with a yellow bandana around his forehead, sitting off to Sabal’s left. The comment causes a ripple of laughter. One not everyone shares, Ajay can’t help but notice. He doesn’t. Across the fire Banhi catches his eye and shakes her head.

“I don’t know,” Ajay says abruptly. He doesn’t mean for it to come out as loud as it does. “ _You_ can be pretty serious sometimes.” Sabal acknowledges the tentative smile Ajay gives him with a shrug.

“It’s true,” he says. “I won’t deny it.”

“Believe it or not, he wasn’t always like that.” A man sitting opposite them lifts his beer in greeting as Ajay looks at him. “We went to school together, eh, Sabal? You should have seen him then. Always getting himself into trouble! No patience, no respect for authority, always falling asleep during Religious Education. Though I did that too, so I guess I can’t really talk.”

“You’re kidding.”

“He isn’t,” Sabal tells him. “My childhood was…colourful, to say the least. I didn’t find Kyra until I was well into my teens. And besides, no boy _really_ wants to spent his summer afternoons learning theology from an ancient textbook.”

His old classmate laughs. “Our teacher used to say Sabal was possessed by the spirit of Yalung himself. What a monster! Sometimes it’s hard to believe he’s the one who led us all into battle, won this war; he wasn’t exactly the most popular of children. Like trying to befriend a wild dog. You’d reach out to him, and he’d snarl and try tear your hand off. He lost his parents young, mind you. Went a bit strange. Though come to think of it, _that_ never really changed.”

Once again, Ajay isn’t really sure if he should be taking part in the general hilarity or not. He does, because everyone else is; it takes too long to realise that Sabal is not joining in with the rest. Oh, he’s smiling, sure. But the expression looks forced, and Ajay abruptly stops laughing.

He…kind of wants to ask. _Lost his parents young; went a bit strange._ What the fuck does that even mean? Is it even safe to ask, is this all water under the bridge?

Sabal catches his eye. He ducks his head so Ajay can hear him say, “Relax, brother. Most people here have known me for years. They’re just showing off.”

It’s not really an answer. But Ajay nods and sips his beer, and then the topic moves back to Sabal as a schoolboy. Hated math, hated theology, approached sports with a lot more enthusiasm than actual skill.

“Clumsy kid,” says their storyteller cheerfully. “Always tripping over his own feet, causing pileups and accidents. I’ve never seen anyone else as bad as he was!”

"Uh. I fell down a mineshaft up north," Ajay says, and regrets it when everyone turns to look at him.

" _How_?" Banhi demands. "How do you miss something like that? Looking at pretty cloud formations, were you? Watching the butterflies?"

"I just didn't see it," Ajay says lamely. "I got lucky, it wasn't that deep, and I kind of slowed my fall on the walls, but...yeah. That's a thing I did. I wouldn't recommend it."

Someone snorts. "Could have been worse. At least you didn't call for a charge across a river, in unfamiliar territory, no less-"

"Do we _really_ need to hear this one?" Sabal says, sounding pained.

"We do now," Ajay tells him. He grins at the Golden Path soldier telling the story, and the man grins right back.

"Since you interrupted me, I'm going to have to give him the long version. Okay, so, two years ago we led a raid on this army camp; they had medicine, food, we had people back in Banapur with pneumonia. We didn't have much choice. Bog-standard raid, we pulled it off without a hitch. Sabal led us in, we killed most of the guards before they could even touch their weapons, and the rest ran for their worthless lives. Right across a river."

"Oh shit, I remember this," says another man. "Funniest thing _ever_. Tell him what happened, Manjeet."

"I'm _trying_ ," says Manjeet. "There we are, in this camp we've liberated. Victorious soldiers, not as much as a bruise on our side. And we _could_ have just settled for taking the stuff we came for, maybe torching the place as an example - but our leader, he'd caught the scent of blood, and he wasn't about to let any survivors run back to tell Pagan anything. He orders a charge. And he leads it, too, right across the river - at least, that was the plan." He has to stop, his grin splitting into a deep belly laugh that infects everyone around him. "Gods, I love this bit. Never gets old. See, we didn't know the territory too well, and we didn't realise just how _low_ that river was. Just rocks and a dribble of water, really, but those rocks were slipperier than snakes. As Sabal found out."

There's laughter all around the campfire now; behind him, Ajay can hear Sabal joining in, a few beats behind the others.

"What happened?" he asks. "Come on, you can't just leave me hanging."

"He slipped," Manjeet tells him cheerfully. "Went face-first down on the rocks, _bam!_ " He claps his hands together to demonstrate. "Blood everywhere, it was amazing. And there we were, trying to make sure he was still alive, everyone worried he'd cracked his skull open, checking for bits of brain on the rocks, you know. While the army soldiers are running off and Sabal's trying to tell us to _give pursuit_ , only he keeps choking on his own blood and nobody can understand him."

"Holy _shit_."

"Right. We had to drag him out of the river, completely soaked; it's lucky the army soldiers didn't have time to put their campfire out, or we'd have had one more case of pneumonia on our hands. As it is, we spent a good few hours panicking. And it turns out all he had was a broken nose and a bitten tongue. All that blood! He spent weeks sulking about it, you should have been there. Amazing."

"And _that's_ why his nose is still a bit funny-looking, to this day," Sabal’s old classmate says.

"There's nothing wrong with my nose," Sabal objects. "It healed cleanly, you can't tell it was ever-"

"That might be what you tell yourself, but we all know better. Sorry, _regent_."

"Ah, it's not so bad," Manjeet says. "Just don't go printing your face on our rupees, nuh? Find someone prettier. Ajay, you want to see your face on the new money? You've got to be worth at _least_ the hundred rupee note."

"Hey, fuck you," Ajay argues. "I killed a tiger in Shanath Arena, _naked._ Pretty sure that earns me the thousand."

"True! Now there's a story I'll be telling the grandchildren. Maybe showing them a video or two."

"Speaking of which. Hey, Ajay!" This time it's Pranav, lifting his bottle of lager in a cheerful toast. "How's it feel to know that _literally_ everyone in this country's seen your dick?" He narrowly avoids the elbow Banhi aims at his ribs, spilling half his beer down the front of his shirt in the process.

"I don't know what you're teasing about," she tells him. "It's bigger than yours."

Watching the circle of soldiers dissolve into hoots and wolf whistles is an experience, to say the least. These men and women who throw themselves into gunfights without a thought for safety; who are only alive today thanks to luck, and _know_ it. And yeah, it'd be nice if they were laughing over something else, but Ajay's not picky. He'll take it. The mock appraising looks, the shouted bets ( _hundred rupees says he's seven inches. Come on, Ajay, whip it out_ ). The tipsy, too-loud laughter. It has a strange note to it, something different from the unusual. If he had to describe it...maybe he'd call if the sound of relief. Victory, freedom, big words for big concepts that are only just starting to sink in.

Ajay ducks his head and stares at the grass and gives them his embarrassment to laugh over. They've earnt it.

"That's enough, friends; you'll scare him away." Sabal's objection comes forth in a tone that shakes with amusement, cuts effortlessly through the noise. He lifts a hand to Ajay's hair and ruffles it. "Pick on someone who'll fight back when you tease."

"Like you?"

"If you have more stories to tell, Manjeet, then tell them," Sabal rejoins. His hand drops to the back of Ajay's neck, squeezing gently. "But you'll run out of material soon enough. I'm not _that_ interesting, thank Kyra."

Manjeet gets comfortable on the crate he's perched on. He draws it out with all the precision of a practiced storyteller, of a guy who knows comic timing like the back of his hand. "Well, I don't know about 'interesting'. But I haven't told him about that football game last year. You know, the friendly match you and Amita organised to...what was it again? 'Connect with the people?" Or something about solidarity, maybe, I forget."

"Kyra," someone else says, "That was a _bloodbath_. And the riot afterwards? I lost a tooth in that riot, and I count myself lucky I didn't lose my life!"

"Wait, wait," Ajay interrupts. He sits forward a little, careful not to dislodge the hand rubbing his neck. "You guys played football? Like, Golden Path sport days? How come nobody told me?"

"Because it only happened once," Sabal tells him. "A shame; it would have been a good way to let off steam between battles. But as it turns out, Amita was no more to be trusted with a football game that she was to be with leading a rebellion. She had no intention of playing fairly."

"That's funny, because I remember what the captain of the opposing team told his players. 'Win this, for Kyra, and for honour. Whatever it takes.' Now _who_ was he again?" Manjeet spreads his hands, and people laugh on cue. Ajay joins in; he tries to picture it, this infamous game that apparently sparked a _riot_. And that's...not actually surprising, if Amita and Sabal were both playing. 'Bloodbath' might be an understatement.

"Come on, fill me in." He appeals to Manjeet, who seems to know all the fun stories around here. Or at least the ones Sabal would rather he didn't hear. Same thing. "Was this in Banapur?"

"In a nearby field. And it was a bright, sunny morning; people came from all over the place to watch, we made a fair bit of money off ticket sales. And betting. Kyra, the betting. I won't tell you what odds were being offered, but let's just say there was a bit of tension even before the game started."

"I thought they were fair," Sabal says.

Ajay tilts his head back to look up at him. "I'm...guessing that's because people thought you were going to win."

"Nothing to do with me, brother. The people put their faith where they felt it belonged."

"Yeah, I bet that went down well with Amita."

"She was furious," Manjeet says cheerfully. " _And_ she lost the coin toss, which wasn't anyone's fault. But it got pretty obvious that the game was going to be messy; the second that whistle blew, it was like she turned into a _demon_. Like Yalung himself! Elbows, fists, knees, violent tackling; her team didn't give a fuck. So obviously we retaliated in kind-"

"We were provoked," Sabal says, to incredulous laughter from around the circle.

 _Sure you were,_ Ajay thinks. _And you never did anything to piss Amita off._ But he's smiling; beer and a festive atmosphere around the fire makes the story seem twice as funny as it otherwise would have been. He imagines the scene, the crowds and sunshine and smell of cooking food. Would they have played in Golden Path uniforms? Or maybe one side wore stolen Royal Army reds to keep things simple? Who was the poor son-of-a-bitch they roped into refereeing? How did they find someone both sides thought was impartial? And more importantly-

"Who won?" Ajay asks. Manjeet gives a dramatic shrug.

"Isn't that the question? To this day, no one knows for sure. We were tied at three all and most of the players were bleeding. Our glorious team captains just forgot the game and started screaming at each other in the middle of the field- what the hell was that even about, huh? Anyone know?"

"I was attacked," Sabal says. "Contrary to all the rules, which we'd discussed in detail and agreed upon beforehand. I shouldn't have been surprised, given Amita's history."

"He means he was going to shoot for goal, and she pulled his hair," someone says. "I saw it. But in her defence, I'm pretty sure that tackle he did on one of her players was illegal. Poor guy was limping for weeks after that."

"And then there was the riot," Manjeet says. "Nobody's sure when the game ended, but we were mostly just trying to get off the field alive. It's lucky we banned weapons: that could have got messy. But we all had a lovely time, and then afterwards we limped home to take care of our wounded, and it was decided that Golden Path football games were a bad idea after all. Such a shame."

"But Amita's gone now, maybe we could try again?"

"Oh, true! We should definitely try again. Hey Sabal, how about it?"

"Depends," Sabal says. He nudges Ajay's shoulder with his knee. "Any good at football, Ajay?"

"I've...never played."

"Excellent. I'm naming you opposing team captain."

"That's a _dick_ move," Ajay says, under the cover of the loud protests from around the fire. His neck's getting a little sore from craning to look up at Sabal; he gives it up. Leans his temple on the other man's knee instead.

He’s really feeling it; the atmosphere, friendly, informal; the alcohol buzzing sweetly in his veins. Just enough to warm him up and dampen his tendency to overthink things and get anxious over them. Sabal moves a hand back to Ajay's hair, massaging his scalp. Ajay closes his eyes. Thinks, _fuck it, okay. Yeah. You keep that up, you’re getting lucky tonight._

The thought sticks in his head, fluttering away from any attempts he makes at shooing it someplace else. Sabal strokes his hair and Ajay gives himself a moment or two to imagine those beautiful hands all over him. Taking him gently apart, somewhere quiet. Taking his time. Sabal gets so _intense_ about everything, war and religion and his plans for the future. He’d be the same in bed, Ajay suspects. He’d treat sex like he does battlefields; take no prisoners, show no mercy. His touch would _burn_.

Sabal presses a little harder and Ajay bites his lip to keep from groaning. He opens his eyes and forces himself out of fantasies he probably shouldn’t be having with so many people around. Can’t trust himself to look at Sabal, or anyone for that matter. He focuses on the ground, the grass and crushed marigolds.

Around them, the debate is still on. Football; Ajay follows the trails of arguments until he can find room to rejoin the conversation.

“Come on, Sabal, play fair, find someone who actually knows what they’re doing! Make it a fair game, for Kyra’s sake-“

"Make Manjeet team captain," Ajay says. "I'll be on riot duty. Someone's got to keep it from ending up like last time, right? Though I guess with Amita gone-"

"Doesn't matter who's on the opposing team," Manjeet says, shaking his head. "If Sabal's playing, then it's a blood sport. He's never liked losing."

"Blood sports, is it?" says a man on Sabal’s left. Golden Path bandana around his temples; the anti-Amita joker from before. "I have a story Ajay might like to hear. I know it'll be new to him; maybe new to some of you as well." He nods at Pranav, sharing a crate with Achal. At Banhi on the grass at their feet.

 _Who..._ Ajay thinks, and then abruptly remembers. He knows this guy. Never learnt his name, because they've never been formally introduced. Not really. But he knows the guy's face, because he knows the faces of _all_ the people he tries to avoid. People who don't smile at him. People who watch him with wary eyes and blank looks, and dismiss him like he's nothing important.

And it’s not that he _expects_ people to treat him like royalty here. The ‘son of Mohan’ gig wore thin real fast, and that’s even before… Before he found out the truth. But it doesn’t matter, because he never wanted to be the son of a legend. If people don’t like him then that’s their problem.

But he doesn’t cope so well with outright hostility from people he’s trying to work with.

 _You're that asshole who pulled me out of Sabal's SUVand hopped in where I should have been,_ Ajay thinks. _You closed the door in my face when he was done sending me off to...'deal with' Amita. Yeah, I know you._

He feels Sabal's fingers tighten fractionally against his scalp. Then they're back to stroking his hair, so quickly Ajay wonders if he imagined the difference.

“Come on,” Banhi says. She makes a show of getting comfortable, wrapping one arm around Achal’s leg for support. Pranav nudges her and she pats his knee with her free hand. “I love story time. Make it good, yar, we’re all listening.”

All eyes on him now, the man in question takes a long drink of his beer. Ajay glances at the empty bottles by his feet; hard to count them in the dark. Still more than there should be. They’re not here to drink until the problems vanish, that’s not what this evening is supposed to be about. Ajay’s half way through his second. Sabal never even finished his first. Nobody’s supposed to be drinking heavily enough to cause trouble, not in the least because they’re chilling on monastery grounds right now. It would be…disrespectful.

Sabal doesn’t say anything, and the man with the bandana drops his empty bottle to the ground at his feet.

“Few years ago,” he says, catching the replacement someone tosses him, “We got word that a man in Tirtha, a moneylender, was doing serious business with the Royal Guard. Loans to build houses, for setting themselves up in a permanent way. In _our_ country. On our holy soil, with wives they took from among our women. We couldn’t let that continue. Those outsiders thought they could just steal from us, take what was ours by divine right.”

It might just be Ajay’s imagination, but the man’s eyes seem to linger on him a little too long. Something twists in his stomach. Defensive, somewhat guilty. Not for the first time, Ajay wonders who else was in line for his position, before he showed up.

The man looks away. “So there he was, this _traitor_ ,” he draws the word out, to approving sounds from his audience. “Getting fat off Royal Guard rupees. Nothing wrong with someone doing well for himself and his family, but we sent him several polite requests to share the good fortune around. Same as usual. You know how it goes.”

“Uh,” Ajay says. “I don’t.” Sabal’s fingers press into his scalp just a little too hard; he leans forward a few inches to compensate. “Did you do that a lot? What happened when people wouldn’t…donate?”

“Nothing,” Sabal says flatly.

“Nothing,” agrees the soldier in the yellow bandana. “We asked once, they refused, we left them. And if, say, the Royal Army, or De Pleur’s ‘collectors’ or Noore’s pimps came by looking for a little donation of their own…well, we have no obligation to assist anyone who refuses us the smallest of charity offerings. They gave us nothing, we returned the favour. And it’s funny how often people who turned us away ended up discovering for themselves just how nasty Pagan’s soldiers could be. _Divine justice,_ Sabal calls it.”

Ajay feels Sabal’s shrug; can’t help it, the way he’s leaning his head on the guy’s leg. He straightens, shifting a few pointed inches away. And it’s still not enough of a hint to keep Sabal from saying, “Kyra looks after the faithful. As for the rest… Their fate is none of my business. Not my problem. We’re spread too thin as it is, without dropping everything to rescue those people who thought they could stay _neutral_.”

 _Ouch_ , Ajay thinks. And then, because he’s never known when to walk away from something that was obviously bad for him, he says, “Yeah but, when you say they got visited by the army after turning you away-”

“As I was saying, we asked this moneylender for the usual donation, and he refused. He had some powerful friends among Pagan’s officers, Amita refused to send anyone back after the second time. She thought we were risking people for nothing. Wanted to fill the Golden Path’s empty coffers with drug money, from a few of the fields we’d captured. Sabal, though. He had the right idea. As he always does.”

“That makes a change, Rajesh,” Sabal says. “I can think of several ideas you haven’t approved of.”

Rajesh shrugs. He drops his empty bottle of beer down with the others at his feet. The campfire lends a shine to the prayer beads around his wrist; they glitter, drawing the eye.       “I’ve questioned you lately,” he agrees. “All the years I’ve worked for you, I should have that right. I earnt it.”

“Wait, wait. What happened to the moneylender? Don’t just leave us hanging like that, it’s cruel.” Across the campfire, Banhi crosses her legs in front of her, leaning back against her crate. “Did he get what was coming to him?”

“He did,” Rajesh agrees. “Sabal saw to that. We attacked just before dawn; it’s a good time for precision strikes, when people are at their most trusting. Good thing we did. There he was, telling us he couldn’t spare any charity for the people trying to save Kyrat from fucking Pagan Min’s oppression. He had well over a million rupees in cash when we searched-”

He’s drowned out by whistles from around the campfire, the odd cheer and approving sound, the amusement. Ajay watches it happen. Doesn’t join in; he’d like to, but the laughter seems to have vanished from inside him. Taking with it the warmth in his bones, the buzz of a couple of beers and friends all around him. Nothing’s changed, but he’s all out of humour.

 _Cultural differences,_ he says to himself while Rajesh tells them all about the cash they found in the moneylender’s basement, the loan documents they destroyed, the valuables they took. _It feels wrong, and back home it would be. But this is different. If he was helping the Royal Guard…_

“He had a lovely house, practically a palace,” Rajesh says. “All his family lived there with him. Seven people we lined up on his beautiful porch and executed, Royal Army style. The moneylender, his brother, wife and sister, his sons as well, nice and poetic. Another good idea of yours, Sabal.”

“We had a message to send.”

“We did,” Rajesh agrees. Ajay inches away from his smile, cold thing that it is. It feels targeted. Like there’s a big red bull’s-eye painted on him, inviting attack from a man he’s never spoken to. He wonders if anyone else has noticed. Doesn’t look like it.

“We took a few of his assistants with us,” Rajesh continues. “And his ledgers, just to see if we could make some sense of where the money was coming from. Torched the building as we left. I swear to you, it went up in flames faster than a soldier soaked in gasoline. Kyra wanted that place gone. And those assistants proved worth their weight in gold; we funded the Golden Path for a year just off the information they gave us. I take some credit there, of course. I’m pretty good at what I do. People are always telling me all kinds of things.” He cracks his knuckles, almost playfully. It gets him another laugh, another bottle of beer tossed to him. This he opens with his bare hands. Twists the metal cap until it pops off, gripping the neck in a stranglehold.

“I never properly introduced you two, did I?” Sabal asks in an undertone. Ajay shakes his head without looking up. “My mistake. He’s Rajesh, he works for me. One of my most loyal.”

“I’ve seen him around.”

“He’s very skilled. Good at getting information out of soldiers who might not crack otherwise. I can’t tell you how many lives he’s saved.”

Ajay thinks back to a door closing firm in his face, soon after he first arrived. _Go to the monastery,_ and the unspoken _I don’t need you here for this_. He remembers feeling disappointment, smelling rain on the wind, and a man in a yellow bandana cracking his knuckles over a gagged, red-clad prisoner.

 _Skilled_. _Sure he is._

“He’s your interrogator,” he mumbles.

“One of my specialists. Amita had hers too, brother.”

“I…never said she didn’t.”

“I just wondered if she’d introduced you to them. Wouldn’t surprise me to hear that she let you think she never needed any. As if we weren’t _both_ forced to take desperate, unfortunate measures in the name of keeping our people safe.” There is a bitter note to Sabal’s forced good humour; it creeps in with Amita’s name, and he can’t seem to shake it off.

 _We should both just go to bed,_ Ajay thinks. And then adds, _separately._ The intimacy of earlier is something he barely remembers.

“No, she didn’t introduce me,” Ajay says. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t know. She wasn’t exactly a saint.”

“Glad to hear it. I did wonder-“

Ajay twists so he can look up at Sabal. “She’s _gone_ , okay? I’m not the one who keeps bringing her up. It’s like you can’t go five minutes without reminding me how much of a terrible person she was. Now, before. After _Durgesh._ Just…let her rest. It doesn’t matter what she did or didn’t say to me anymore.”

“Of course not.” Sabal unbends a little, his tone turned conciliatory. “You’ll have to forgive me, Ajay. The wounds are still raw. It’s difficult to wrap my head around the fact that she’s no longer around to block every move I make. We can finally start making progress.”

That last part is said a little louder. Next to Sabal, Rajesh lifts his eyes from contemplating his beer. “That’s a modest way of saying we’re saved. It is done. You’ll see us through whatever the future brings. I know you; I know what you are, even if others don’t.” He pauses to let that sink in. “You’re a _leader._ You’re our strength. And now, thanks to you, Kyrat is free. _To Sabal!_ ” He lifts his beer in a toast that everyone echoes, a second or two behind him. Ajay lifts his own half-full bottle, mutters, “Sabal,” and feels the other man’s fingers stroke his scalp in acknowledgement.

It doesn’t do much for him anymore. He almost wants to turn and snap, _knock it off._

“So where to next?” It’s Pranav, speaking up from the crate he’s mostly taken over. Achal perches on the very edge at his side, accepting the imbalance with apparent good humour. “Victory parties? Fireworks in Banapur? Parades in Tirtha? The royal palace is empty, we could have a football game of _epic_ proportions in the same corridors Pagan used to walk through. Yes? No? Who’s with me?”

Sabal speaks up over the chuckles. “No time for that just yet, I’m afraid. We have work to do. Kyra’s light must be spread to all the corners of this country where Pagan managed to extinguish it; we have Pagan’s soldiers roaming the country, leaderless but not yet beaten; the opium fields need burning, as do the heroin stockpiles. And besides that-“

“Executions,” Rajesh drawls. Sabal shoots him a look, but doesn’t comment on the interruption. Not like he’d have done if Ajay had spoken. Not like he did at Jalendu. “Lots of executions. Got a lot of _divine justice_ to dispense on those invaders Pagan brought with him. This land belongs to loyal Kyratis now. But I have faith in our regent’s ability to drive the evil from our borders. I know how he feels about _outsiders_.” He draws a finger across his neck; a universal gesture that needs no translation. “You swore you’d cleanse this land, Sabal. Bring the truth to the unbelievers, by word or blade. Whatever it takes. Do you stand by that?”

“I do,” Sabal says simply. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. “I am what I have always been. That’s not going to change.”

Ajay moves another few centimetres away, until Sabal’s hand drops away from his scalp. He doesn’t regret the loss.

He doesn’t like some of the words being tossed around here. Most of them, even. He doesn’t like the looks Rajesh keeps throwing him, the secretive smile, the hints that point towards a history he doesn’t have a place in. Doesn’t even know about. It’s stupid to let some drunk guy get to him- some _sadist_ , probably, and the only difference between this guy and De Pleur is the colour he wears. Maybe it’s just the alcohol talking. The midnight lethargy that loosens people’s tongues until they say what they don’t really mean.

“Everything alright, brother?” Ajay looks up to find Sabal watching him with a frown.

“Sure,” he lies. “Just getting a little sleepy. Long day, you know.” He looks across the fire at Banhi, leaning back against the crate with her eyes half closed. Achal laughing at something his neighbour is saying. But Pranav catches his eye and mimes a large yawn. Ajay nods; shoots the man what he hopes is a sufficiently pleading expression. He gets a grateful smile in return.

“So, it’s getting a bit past my bedtime,” Pranav announces loudly, sliding off the crate and bending down to shake Banhi’s shoulder. “The three of us are an absolute _nightmare_ when we’re tired, nobody wants to see that. We’re probably in for a busy day tomorrow, so…”

“A busy few weeks,” Rajesh calls over to him. A little too loud, too forceful. Words slurred at the edges. “Not without their share of entertainment though. Who’s coming to De Pleur’s execution? Yeah? Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He shouts the last part over the sudden increase in volume around the fire. “What, you thought we’d let the bastard live? Not a chance. Ever seen a man torn apart by elephants? It’s a story you’ll be telling your grandchildren about.”

Ajay pushes himself to his feet. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let his neighbours know his intentions. Fades into the shadows while Sabal’s _interrogator_ entertains the crowds with his no-doubt informed predictions on just how long it’ll take De Pleur to die once the elephants start pulling. Whether it’ll be the shock that kills him, or the blood loss. As if it matters.

As if it’ll change anything.

Ajay takes his time heading back to the monastery. He lets the early departures go first, trailing along in their wake and making no attempt to join the conversation. They all sound pretty happy. That’s good, he supposes. Someone should. Still, he pauses, bends and makes a show of retying his shoelace until the voices grow distant and he can make his way up the steps alone.

Sabal catches up with him at the entrance to the monastery, where the wooden doors stand open and the corridors inside glow with firelight. Ajay turns when he calls; in a way, he was expecting it. Walked a little slower than he needed to and lingered in the expectation of being found. Only, now he can’t remember why.

“Sabal,” he says quietly.

“Ajay.”

Three steps back and he’ll cross the monastery threshold. _Safe_. Holy ground, and Sabal couldn’t come after him. Or - could he? What are the rules here? Ajay thinks of his first visit to this place; standing in the doorway to a side chamber and trying not to gag over the heavy smell of bleeding, dying goat.

Love is not permitted here; violence is. He can’t afford to forget it.

“Sorry,” Ajay says. Sabal steps in closer and he doesn’t back away. “I was getting a little tired back there. Figured I’d crash. You- you should probably do that too.”

“I will. In a bit. I’d hoped to walk you back to your room, but you vanished on me.”

“Yeah, I…didn’t want to kill the mood. I was just going to slip away-“

“Without saying goodnight?” Sabal’s voice is low, teasing, something Ajay’s never heard from him before. It sends a little thrill through his insides. Even now, he can’t get a hold of himself where this man is concerned.

“Guess not,” he says. “Uh, goodnight? I’m sorry, I don’t actually know the Hindi for that. You’d think I would by now. I should probably learn.”

“That’s sweet,” Sabal tells him. He’s close enough now to cup Ajay’s cheek, rub a thumb over the stubble on his chin. “Are you scared of me, brother? Ajay? You’re sounding a little nervous there. What, you think I’d hurt you? _You_?” This time he laughs, like the idea is so far from believable he can’t even say it with a straight face. Like he wasn’t at Jalendu two days ago, advancing on Ajay with cold murder in his eyes. “Don’t tell me you actually believed those stories Rajeshwas telling. He exaggerates, twists the truth; that’s part of his job. He can’t stop himself.”

Sabal rests his other hand on Ajay’s hip, tugging him fractionally closer. And Ajay goes. He might have done so even without prompting; this close, he can feel his heart speed up. The hum of nervous tension in his veins.

“I don’t know,” he hears himself say, “They sounded pretty true. I just- I don’t know. They kind of got to me. How far would you say he was exaggerating?”

His hands hang between them, half lifted. Maybe to defend himself, push Sabal away; maybe to grab his shirt and pull him the last few inches closer. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t _know_.

Sabal smiles at the aborted gesture; mistakes it for shyness. “You’re allowed to touch me,” he says gently. “It’s only holy figures who aren’t permitted physical contact. And I’m just a man. Like you.”

 _Answer the fucking question, please_ , Ajay thinks, wrapping his arms loosely around Sabal’s waist. Knuckles stroking over Sabal’s back. He’s nowhere near the hero people in this country seem to think he is. Not as strong, not as in control of himself as he should be. Sabal cups the back of his neck and Ajay leans into him instinctively.

“There you go,” Sabal says. “Kyra, I’ve waited a long time to do this.”

His lips taste of weak Kyrati beer, as Ajay’s probably do; he licks into Ajay’s mouth, he is _everywhere_. Teasing the tip of Ajay’s tongue with his own. Coaxing him into giving back. Ajay’s arms tighten around Sabal’s waist, fingers kneading his back through the heavy denim of his jacket. He lets his eyes slip closed. It doesn’t help, like he hoped it might. Now he’s left with taste and touch and the campfire smoke that lingers on Sabal’s skin. Sabal sucks gently on his tongue; Ajay gasps.

 _Oh god,_ he thinks, dizzy with the possessive slide of Sabal’s lips. _I’m in trouble, oh god._

 _I know what you are, even if others don’t._ Rajesh is a sneer in the back of his mind, a drunk with a secrets he shares by implication.

Sabal pulls back just far enough to smile at Ajay. He’s relaxed; it’s the easiest thing to yank free of his loose hold, stumble back a few steps until the monastery threshold looms above, and the night hides his look of confusion in shadow.

“ _No_ ,” Ajay says raggedly. His fists are clenched at his side; his breathing comes combat-quick. “I can’t do this, I’m sorry, I can’t. I don’t _trust_ you. What you did at Jalendu, the…the stories I’m hearing, it’s like I have no idea who you even are. I _can’t_.”

Sabal’s expression is shrouded in darkness; he tilts his head and his eyes reflect the light from one of the monastery’s torches. _Predator’s eyes,_ Ajay thinks, aware of his own near-hysteria.

“I see,” Sabal says quietly. He makes no move to come any closer. “So that’s the issue. I should have realised earlier today when you wouldn’t discuss it. Amita. Am I right? Dead, and she’s _still_ finding ways to haunt me. What was she telling you, brother? What lies did she poison you with?” He doesn’t leave Ajay room to answer. “It doesn’t matter, she’s gone now. And whatever damage is done can be repaired; I will see it repaired. Whatever that takes.” He lifts his chin, a cold nod in Ajay’s direction. “Go, then. You’re clearly _desperate_ to be far away from me.” The last words are a hiss, low and vicious.

Ajay leaves him standing there. He flees into the monastery, and the safety of Kyra’s holy ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of things:  
> 1\. Anyone interested in the (loose) basis for Bhadra's new life can have a look  
> [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kumari_%28children%29) and [here (mostly for the images)](http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2654161/The-real-life-goddesses-feet-touch-ground-Incredible-images-incarnated-Nepalese-virgins-live-temples-school-forbidden-walking-reach-puberty.html). The major difference in Bhadra's situation is that her position is a lifetime role.  
> 2\. For anyone interested, Banhi, Achal and Pranav are actual in-game characters! They're the three who run the armed escort missions, and you should definitely listen in on their dialogue, it's fantastic.  
> 3\. Thank you so much to the people leaving comments/kudos. It's a long story, it takes time to update, but I'm having a great time in this world and I love hearing that you are too! Thank you.


	4. Drink the Water from the Mud

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but can the road trip be over yet? Seriously. Why don’t we just… I don’t know, teleport ourselves to Banapur? _Beam me up, Scotty, I can’t do fifteen hours in a convoy with Sabal._ ”

“Who the fuck is Scotty? Sounds northern. Is he northern? You can’t trust a northerner behind the wheel of _anything_ , yar, they’re all messed up in the head when it comes to directions. Too much time under Pagan, that’s my guess.”

“Banhi, honey, don’t tell me you’ve never seen Star Trek. It’s a classic. You’ve seen it, right, Ajay? Thought so.”

Ajay tosses another rucksack up to Pranav, wincing under the weight. “Sure. Star Wars is better.”

“You shut your mouth.”

“Sorry.”

Packing the convoy proves easier without a lake to navigate first. Better yet, they’re packing for soldiers. The civilians who tagged along after Jalendu are all staying behind to enjoy monastery hospitality for a few more days, maybe try their luck at getting Bhadra’s blessings for their villages, farms, families. The Golden Path, meanwhile, is splitting up. One group to Banapur, to start setting up a more permanent base of operations. One to Shanath Arena, purpose unspecified. Several to cross the King’s Bridge and go their separate ways once they’re in northern territory. Headed for Utkarsh, KEO Mines and the royal palace.

It shouldn’t come as such a surprise to find that the Golden Path has accountants. Some of them even have foreign degrees, Indian or Nepalese in origin, from back before the civil war got so bad that the only people crossing Kyrat’s borders were smugglers. They make a nervous group, surrounded by armed soldiers; they may be one of the new government’s most valuable assets.

They’re the ones tasked with discovering what the country’s wealth consists of. Where it comes from, what needs to be done to keep things running. The poppy fields can’t be completely obliterated until they know what kind of impact it’ll have on Kyrat’s future. Amita had one thing right: the country may well be bankrupted without them.

He throws his own pack in the truck with Banhi’s. Nobody’s said anything, but presumably he’ll be with the group heading home to Banapur. It makes sense; the regent will want to oversee the start of Banapur’s new construction. New offices, a proper barracks, cell phone towers. Hell, if they’re going to be seeing a lot of visitors in the area, it might be an idea to improve some of the main roads before they start causing accidents. Maybe that’s already on the to-do list. The regent will know.

”Officers to me,” Ajay hears Sabal calling in the background.

He passes a final sack of rice up to Pranav, dusting his hands off as he turns away. It’s probably a bad idea to take his time about arriving. Still, he can’t bring himself to hurry.

They haven’t talked.

It’s getting to be a familiar feeling.

“Hasan, you’re a northern man, they’ll take more kindly to you in Utkarsh. Don’t pressure them; the locals suffered enough under Pagan’s artillery strikes. Be kind. Let them see that we haven’t abandoned them in their time of need. But make sure our banners fly over their walls, so they know which side they owe allegiance to. Damaged or not, Utkarsh is of vital importance to controlling the north. I want Golden Path soldiers in the streets at all times, understand?”

“Consider it done.”

“Good man.” Sabal turns away from the soldier to address someone else. He doesn’t acknowledge Ajay’s arrival. “Karishma, I’m sending soldiers with you to the palace, but you have command of the group. Stay out of any fights you run into; your skills are worth too much to lose you on the battlefield. Stay in touch and don’t be afraid to call for help if you need it.”

“Yes, regent.” The woman in question shuffles the pile of folders she’s carrying, tucking it under one arm so she can offer an unpractised salute. “I can’t give you an expected time for results, you understand. Pagan had his own accountants. We have no way of knowing how he ran the country’s finances. It could be weeks before we can decipher his books, assuming he kept any.”

“I have the utmost faith in you,” Sabal tells her, and she lifts her chin a little.

“We won’t let Kyrat down, regent.”

The palace; a haunting prospect, for everyone. A lost piece of the past they’re reclaiming, blowing dust off the relics and statues Pagan never cared for. Rediscovering a fragment of the history he took from them. Lot of lost things in that place.

 _There’s a building in the palace gardens, by the wall of rusty Mani wheels. Looks like a shrine. A tomb. It’s locked, don’t touch it. It’s mine. His. Ours._ But he doesn’t know this woman, or any of the people going with her. Can’t take them aside in the middle of a meeting.

Ajay keeps his mouth shut.

Sabal addresses the remaining troops, deftly handing out assignments, using everyone’s names. Radhika leads her group to the mines, Gopal takes his to Pagan’s fortress, Deepak stays at Chal Jama Monastery to establish the Tarun Matara’s new defences. Ajay holds in a smile when Rajesh is assigned to Shanath Arena; he’s sick of the man already. Hopeful that between his absence and a few days for wounded pride to heal, there might be a chance for a proper talk with Sabal. Time to request a little clarification on Sabal’s plan for the country. To explain that last night’s _no_ doesn’t mean forever.

Sabal dismisses the group, sends them off with his blessings, asking them all to take care of themselves and their people. Ajay waits around for a couple of seconds. He’s not too surprised to find himself ignored. Expected it, even, after what happened. He could have handled it better. In a way less likely to cause offense.

Ajay shrugs and starts to follow the group of Golden Path officers assigned to Banapur. There’s work to do that doesn’t include waiting around for Kyrat’s regent to get his head out of his ass and actually start giving instructions. There’ll be room in the truck with Banhi, Pranav and Achal. Bit of breathing space for people who maybe shouldn’t be around each other just now.

“Not you,” Sabal says behind him, his voice a sharpened, cutting edge. Ajay turns back, startled. “You’re not going back to Banapur. We have work to do, brother, or had you forgotten? It’s Shanath Arena for us. The trials won’t set themselves up. Or the executions.”

Ajay feels anger start to well up inside him. “Fine,” he says curtly. “Wherever you need me.”

“Such _obedience_.”

“What, is it surprising? I’ve done literally everything you told me to since I got here, you have no right to make it sound like something unusual.”

“I guess I’ve just been wondering,” Sabal says. “You’ve been a little…unpredictable as of late. How did you phrase the problem? _It’s like I have no idea who you even are_? It raises a few questions I’d hoped we could avoid; how far would you say your loyalty stretches, brother?”

For a moment all Ajay can do is stare at him. When he draws a breath to respond, he does so through a sudden heaviness in his chest. “What are you saying?”

“Rajesh made a point, when I returned to the group last night.” There’s something unpleasant to Sabal’s sidelong look. _Suspicion_ , Ajay realises too late. “Amita’s body was never found. Same for Yuma. _Pagan_. That’s three people who have no right to be missing- and yet. We’ve found no trace. He thinks it’s odd, and I’m inclined to agree. Anything you want to add?”

It’s not unexpected. Sooner or later someone was going to notice, Amita especially. Pagan’s absence can be explained away pretty easily; someone might have stolen the body, Royal Guard or Golden Path, for whatever reason. A proper burial for the king. A proper despoiling for the oppressor.

Yuma, though. That’s news. He remembers her body, the blood on his knife and hands and wrists. She looked pretty dead when he last saw her. But he’s aware that he was off his head at the time; he fucking fought her in _Shangri La_ , for god’s sake. Or fought someone, at any rate. Maybe she survived. Maybe she clawed her way out of the mine and got medical attention. Maybe she bled out in a safe house, or skipped the country when Pagan fell. She wouldn’t be the only one.

“No,” Ajay says. He makes himself meet Sabal’s eyes. “I don’t _care to add anything._ You know where De Pleur is? How about Noore? You remember who put them there?”

“And you don’t find anything strange about the missing bodies?”

Ajay turns away. “Nope. They were taken. Those three all had friends, and enemies. Could’ve been either side. I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Rajesh, it sounds like he’s got all the answers.”

“Ajay.”

“If we’re leaving soon, I have to go grab my stuff. Say a few goodbyes. Let me know if you need anything else done, otherwise I’ll see you at the vehicles.” He lifts a hand in a half-hearted wave, and goes to extract his pack and sleeping bag from the pile of luggage headed for Banapur. Sabal doesn’t call him back this time.

They leave far sooner than he’d expected, and maybe it would feel less intentional if he wasn’t so convinced that everything about the day is out to get him. He keeps an eye on the monastery the whole time he’s helping people pack. Bhadra doesn’t show. Chances are she doesn’t even know they’re leaving just yet; it’s rapidly becoming clear that nobody’s going to tell her anything.

It bothers him that she’ll think he’s in Banapur. Which is crazy; Shanath Arena is closer, and maybe he’ll have a chance to see her again sooner than he would have. They might make another stop at the monastery after setting up Sabal’s trials.

Still, he doesn’t like her not knowing. Poor kid should have something constant, someone she knows she can trust- especially given that the last person who filled that role is now missing, generally presumed dead. It’s not fair on Bhadra. She should know where he is if she needs him.

A small, guilty part of him wonders if the absence is intentional. If she knows that he told Sabal about the wedding plans, and doesn’t want to talk to him. If she thinks he betrayed her. He pushes the thought from his mind the moment it occurs. This is not the time.

Rajesh shoulders past as he heads for the group of SUVs designated to the Shanath Arena group. Gives him a nod, a smile so smug it borders on open hostility. He claims the driver’s seat in Sabal’s vehicle. Ajay turns his face away to keep the naked gratitude from showing. Let the guy thinks it’s disappointment, that he’s won some kind of battle here. Ajay lets him take the place of honour and finds a spare seat between a couple of Golden Path fighters he recognises. They welcome him by name; for a moment, everything feels like it used to.

They’re travelling heavily armed. Grenade and rocket launchers, couple of LMGs, shotguns. Civilian guard duty is never a picnic; this time, it’s more serious than usual. They’re escorting priests. Seven, maybe eight. All the men who volunteered to play a role in deciding the fate of Pagan’s soldiers and supporters, who offered to leave their temples and pilgrimages for a higher, more bloody calling.

It’s the priests who call for a halt at the Tree of Life (Ajay hears the capitals, the pointed emphasis that marks this site, like so many others, as holy). They tell him it’s the starting point of _Banashur’s Pilgrimage_ when he asks. Send him pitying looks when it’s clear he has no idea what it means.

He’s seen it before, though. It stands at the foot of an incline to a bell tower. He remembers that one. Tricky climb, soldiers patrolling its base as he tried not to put his foot through any rotten floorboards.

At least the view was nice.

They park their SUVs in the shadow of the bell tower, climbing out to stretch their legs and eat some of the food the monastery cooks packed for them. Ajay sticks with the people he’s been travelling with. He didn’t catch their names this time; they assumed he’d have memorised them after their first meeting some months ago. He doesn’t have the guts to tell them otherwise. So, for the moment, they’re friends without names.

He doesn’t notice at first that people are splitting off from the group one by one. Individually making their way down to the sacred tree, to do…something. Pray, most likely. He’s not really paying attention. And that may be the problem; if he’d showed some interest, asked a few questions, he might’ve been given a free pass for his ignorance. Hindsight’s great like that.

“You do not pray?” says an unfamiliar voice standing over him. Ajay looks up at the man, recognises him from strategy meetings at the monastery. Another name he forgot as soon as it was given to him.

“Uh, no,” he says. “Not really my thing. You guys go ahead, don’t mind me.”

“He does not pray,” the priest says over his shoulder, and before Ajay knows it another one comes to stand in front of him. They’re blocking his exit, a nonthreatening threat. He pushes himself to his feet slowly, brushing crumbs from the fabric of his jeans.

“No, sorry. But it’s not exactly a secret, lots of people know that.”

“But who do you look to, when you have problems? Who guides you through life’s tragedies?” It’s the man on his left, beard the colour of campfire ashes. “When you are afraid, whose light keeps the demons away?”

 _Awkward,_ Ajay thinks. _Ah, shit_.

“Nobody,” he says as reasonably as he can. “I just…deal with whatever it is. Look, can we not talk about this, it’s making me a little uncomfortable.”

“Surely there is something you believe in. What will happen to your soul when you die?”

“I’d really prefer if we just-“

“All who pass by the Tree of Life stop for prayer and contemplation,” says the leftmost priest. His brows are drawn; he’s confused, _concerned_. Worried that something is wrong. “It is the starting point for Banashur’s Pilgrimage. Any traveller who can do so will stop here, because visiting the Tree guarantees a safe arrival at one’s destination. Many believe that the journey does not need to be a physical one; it may refer to the journey of life which we all undergo.” His tone turns explanatory. It wouldn’t be out of place in a classroom or temple. Of the two, he seems the most patient, so he’s the one Ajay addresses.

“That’s really interesting. Maybe you could tell me more about it sometime. In the meantime, if we’re done here-“

“We’ll be staying here another half hour,” says the patient one. “Matters of scripture to discuss, you understand. It will be vital to the future of Kyrat that we are all in agreement before the trials begin. There is time for you to go and offer tribute to the gods.”

If he’d been the only one asking, Ajay might have agreed. _Yeah, sure, why not. Back soon._ It wouldn’t have killed him to go sit by a tree for ten minutes and enjoy the view. Hell, if they’re going to be another half hour, it leaves time for a nap. There’s a lot wrong with him going along with these customs he doesn’t understand, and pretending they mean something to him. Dishonesty has to be worse than a lack of spirituality. Still, he might have done it, if only to stop this guy looking at him like a falling boulder might crush his skull in the moment he leaves this place.

But he’s not the only one, and the other is looking a lot less patient. Ajay throws the man a wary look before turning back to the one he prefers to talk to.

“Thanks,” he says, a little more firmly. “But I’m okay.”

“He rejects the gods,” says the less friendly man. “Perhaps he believes himself to be above them? And, by extension, above the rest of us?”

Friendly priest sighs. “That’s not what he said, Suvrat. I think the problem here is a simple lack of understanding-“

“He stands here, at the beginning of Banashur’s Pilgrimage, and feels _nothing_. This is more than a lack of understanding, I think. He was the same at Jalendu Temple; there, so close to the gods, he was still distant. Maybe we should be concerned. Yalung walks among men with a handsome face and offers of friendship, but he is a demon. A liar. He is not to be trusted. We should ask ourselves if we haven’t been blinded by our sudden freedom. The servants of Yalung are everywhere, and easy to miss.”

“Is there a problem here, brothers?” Ajay’s head snaps up from a sullen contemplation of the dirt at his feet. He throws Sabal a relieved look.

“Not exactly. I’m just trying to explain that-”

“This man,” says the angry priest, Suvrat. “You chose him as your second in command. _You,_ who have never strayed from the light of Kyra, and who vowed to bring that same light to the rest of this country. But for some reason, you chose _this_ man, and gave him a role of leadership. He has never known enlightenment. Never undergone the Pilgrimage, or even puja at the monastery. Why is he here?”

Friendly priest lifts his hands in a calming gesture. “He’s _Ajay Ghale_. We wouldn’t be free without him; Pagan is dead at his hand, as is Yuma, the Demon of Durgesh Prison. He’s _here_ for those reasons.”

“He will not pray. The people of this country will look to him for example. For _guidance_. And what will they see? This,” he gestures, his hand coming just a fraction too close to Ajay’s face for comfort. Ajay jerks back. “This stranger, who as good as spits on our customs-“

“That’s not what I meant. I just- _tell him_ ,” Ajay turns to Sabal, pleading in the face of his impassivity. “I swear I’m not causing trouble here, I didn’t even start this conversation. All I’m asking for is that they respect this religion thing isn’t…my thing. They won’t listen to me. Please.”

Sabal turns to the priests, raising his eyebrows. The patient one sighs. Murmurs something Ajay doesn’t fully catch, though the words _Banashur’s Pilgrimage_ stand out, as they were no doubt meant to.

The other priest, Suvrat, whatever his name is, doesn’t bother to moderate his volume. “He insults us,” he says, and Ajay takes another step back just in case he’s going to start waving his hands around again. “And weakens you besides. Not the first time he’s gone against you publicly, or so I hear. How many times is this going to happen? How can we claim to be united under the gods, if your own chosen people openly disrespect traditions?

Sabal is silent, and something very cold starts forming in the base of Ajay’s stomach. He swallows. “Tell them,” he says quietly. “Please. Sabal?”

“I think you’ve caused enough trouble for the moment,” Sabal says. It takes Ajay several seconds to work out he’s being addressed.

“What?”

“I said, I’m done dealing with the problems you’ve been causing recently. This is a small thing; it won’t hurt you to show a little respect, for once.” Sabal turns to look at him, finally. His expression is… _distasteful_ , his eyes knife-sharp. “We’ll be leaving in half an hour or so, and I don’t need you around until then. Go and seek _some_ kind of enlightenment, for your own sake. Kyra knows you need it.”

“ _Oh my god,_ ” Ajay breathes, when he can. When he can form the words. “You petty, vindictive- you actually think you’re in the right here, don’t you? You think _you’re_ the one hard done by.”

“Do it, Ajay. I won’t ask you again.” Sabal turns away from him, an open dismissal, and Ajay gapes at his retreating back, fumbling for words.

He has a terrible feeling he should have seen this coming. There were certainly warnings enough, though even now he’s not exactly certain of what those warnings pointed _to._ He knew Sabal was unforgiving, vengeful. And after Jalendu he knew the guy had issues with betrayal, both real and perceived. He’d have put good money on jealousy. Oversensitivity to criticism. He was ready to deal with those kinds of flaws, mostly by virtue of not having much of a temper of his own.

But last night’s events changed a lot of things, and this is just further confirmation that Ajay might be in over his head. Forget floundering in the deep end; he may be already drowned. How long does it take someone to notice that? Knowing him, he won’t until it’s too damn late.

Ajay slinks off to the Tree and doesn’t look to see if people watch him go. What kind of message must they be sending here? Division in the ranks, power struggles within days of Sabal being made regent?

He finds quite suddenly that he doesn’t actually care.

The Tree of Life sits on a hill, the bare ground at its base decorated with the usual offerings: incense and money and marigolds in sunset colours. There’s the usual stone Kyra statue. Ajay throws it a filthy look as he sits cross-legged dead in the centre of its blank gaze.

“News flash: I’m not kneeling,” he tells it. “You’re not my goddess. I don’t even think you were my Mom’s. She sure never mentioned you, so I guess you didn’t mean that much to her.”

A breeze blows through the leaves above his head and ragged prayer flags strung through the ancient branches. Ajay lets his eyes drift closed. He feels a little better without the statue watching him.

Not for the first time, he wishes for the presence of the one person who would have known what to do here. Who’d have given him the facts without sugar-coating them, and then left him alone to do the right thing, however much it hurt. She’d never have _made_ him do anything. Never did. She always believed in his capacity to do good, in the end. Even understood that sometimes it might take him years and countless screw-ups to work out what that was first.

“Hey, Mom,” Ajay says, opening his eyes. He looks at the Kyra statue. Wonders for the first time if Ishwari was ever here, under this tree. If she ever completed this pilgrimage people seem to think is so important. Even if she didn’t, she must have stopped by. This place is close enough to his parents’ homestead that it seems almost impossible she wouldn’t have.

He presses a palm to the dirt under one of his knees; it feels warm. Just the midday sun, but for a moment or two he lets himself believe that she was just here. That he missed her by seconds, and she might be coming back. Maybe she forgot something. Left it behind under the tree, and went on ahead without it.

“Nice place you sent me to,” Ajay says. He rubs his palm absently through the dirt. “Lots of surprises. And I’m kind of wondering if you meant for me to stay here, or if I was supposed to have my life-changing experience and then go home and…I don’t know, start a charity or something. You never really said. Too busy dying on me out of nowhere, I guess.”

The bitterness still lingers, months down the line. He tries not to dwell on it too much. A phone call early one morning, when he’d seen her only a month before, and she’d been fine. She’d always been fine. He resents the hours they spent discussing _his_ life, _his_ problems, all the while she was dying and knew it, and still wanted to know if he was eating right, if he was dating, if he’d thought some more about going to college.

She was living on borrowed time, and she let him piss it away on irrelevancies he doesn’t even remember anymore. And then she sent him _here_.

“ _I need you to see it_ ,” he can still hear her whisper. Faded, body wasted; she stopped hiding it at the end. “ _Kyrat. The mountains, Ajay. They never really let you leave. I always knew you’d go back, it was just…never the right time. At least now I’ll be able to come with you. I’ll always be with you._ ”

“You tell Lakshmana the same thing? Huh?” If she’d really been there to hear it, she’d have slapped him and sent him away. Wouldn’t be the first time. He stopped showing up high on Ishwari’s doorstep when she made it very clear that the only form of attention it would get him was her rage. She was so very disappointed in him. Back in the day.

He’s been carefully holding Lakshmana at bay, partitioning her presence in a section of his mind he reserves for the heavy stuff he doesn’t ever want to have to deal with. Wouldn’t know what to do about, even if he had someone to ask. So he had a sister. Past tense. Great. Cool. Now what?

“Why’d you do it?” he asks the silent stone statue. “I don’t understand. Your secrets were _killing_ me, you know? You were always asking me why I did all that stuff when I knew it hurt you, but you started it. You and your secrets.”

_Take me back to Lakshmana._

He was eight years old, the weird kid with the weird name, mumbling corrections to its pronunciation with a growing infrequency. Came home buzzing with excitement over his homework project: the family tree. And fuck, he wanted it _bad_. More than all the other kids combined. Finally, a shot at some answers. Some names to fill in the blank spaces in his head, the silences that grew long when people asked him about his Dad, his grandparents, where he even came from.

Thirty seconds into his explanation, Ishwari started writing him a note excusing him from the activity. And he remembers the guilt he felt, accepting it in lieu of the stylised, printed tree whose branches he was supposed to fill in with histories. Like it was his fault. Like he had no business asking in the first place.

He supposes he must be upset. The Lakshmana thing, that’s messed up. Sick. Who calls a one-year old a mistake, and takes steps to… _Correct_ her? Who would do that?

His father, for starters. And then Ishwari killed him for it.

Turns out the family tree would have been better off staying blank.

“Guess I don’t understand how you could do something like that. You just ran away and cut half of your life out and pretended it never happened; you cut _me_ off. That was my heritage too, you know? I can’t even speak the fucking language. You made it so I’d always feel like an outsider here, getting my history second-hand from strangers, and it kind of feels like you never even wanted me to know about any of it. But you sent me back. Was it really _that_ important for me to find out about Lakshmana like this? Couldn’t you have just told me? Why am I even here?”

His past with Ishwari is checkered, more black than white when seen from a distance.

It was the secrets that ruined them. Hers, then his too, once he got old enough that his little boy confusion turned into self-righteous teen rage. _Hide things from me, will you? Two can play at that game._ And then the skipped school days, torn up report cards, drugs and parties every weekend.

_You didn’t come home last night. Where were you?_

_Out._

_I can see that. I waited up for you, Ajay, you never answered my calls._

_Yeah, music was a little loud. I didn’t hear._

_And you didn’t think I might be worried?_

_Guess not. Listen, I’m gonna go crash for a few hours, I haven’t really slept. See you around._

He broke her heart so often that she must have longed for her days in Kyrat. Simpler days; civil war and murder and falling for the wrong guy. Back before she gave up her life, her friends and family, for the sake of the kid who looked her in the eyes and told her he wasn’t really feeling the whole _college_ thing. Too much work. Not really his style.

Ajay tries to imagine explaining that to people here. To Banhi, say. Who drove trucks of illegal books to villages without any other shot at education, while monologuing on the importance of reading in today’s tech-driven world. He imagines the look on her face. She’d do what Ishwari never could, and tell him without reservation that he was a fucking disappointment. Passing up on something she never had, because he wanted to take a cheap shot at his mother.

Funny thing is, he was fixing that. Applying to the colleges he’d wanted to go to in the first place, looking up majors and minors and student loans. He was turning his life around. Forgiving Ishwari her secrets, if she would forgive his mistakes. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it.

And then the phone call.

“You kind of sprung this on me,” he tells the Kyra statue. “It was like…you were there, and then you weren’t. And I was so busy trying to work out what you wanted me to do, how I was going to do that, I never really…stopped. Some days it feels like I’m going to hop on a plane back home and you’ll be there waiting to hear about all the stupid shit I did. Did you get like that about Lakshmana? Like you were too busy moving to let her catch up with you? I don’t know. You always seemed to know what you were doing, and I’m…not like that. I can’t do the big stuff on my own.”

He did so much to hurt her. Petty vengeance, a misplaced sense of entitlement, this idea that all his problems could be attributed to her and the things she was hiding from him. He clung to that for years. Most of his life, it feels like. _Her_ lies. _Her_ secrets. And, by extension.

“You sent me to Kyrat. Everything that’s happened to me here, this is all _your_ fault.” But he feels guilty just saying it, like he’s back to being a kid and Ishwari is scolding him for his lies. _Tell the truth, Ajay_. A little hypocritical in hindsight- but having seen her reasons, he’s not sure he can blame her. She did her best. And she really, truly believed he could do even better.

_Mom, I know it’s late, I’m sorry, I- oh god, I’m so sorry. I fucked up. So bad, and I don’t know what to do._

_Ajay? You’re shaking, come in, come in. What’s the matter? Are you hurt?_

_I fucked up. That man at the store, he wasn’t- there wasn’t supposed to be any trouble, it was supposed to be over quickly. Nobody was supposed to get hurt. Oh god. Oh my god, what do I do? There was so much blood-_

_Sit down. Here, drink this. It’s just water, it won’t hurt you. Good. Alright. Now I need you to take deep breaths and explain to me what happened. What have you done?_

_I didn’t kill him, I swear-_

_Ajay. What have you done?_

_It was a…a robbery. At this one store, and I swear to god I was just scouting the place out first, keeping an eye out for anyone that got in the way. I wasn’t- I didn’t even really know what was going to happen._

_Was there a gun?_

_Yeah. I didn’t know there’d be-_

_Did you touch it?_

_No._

_Did you take anything?_

_No, I never did that. I was just on lookout-_

_And these people you were with, you know their names? They were friends of yours?_

_Yeah. I mean, I thought- they said it would be really easy, we wouldn’t even take that much. Just an initiation thing so they knew they could trust me. I never meant for anyone to get hurt._

_So someone was hurt. The storekeeper?_

_Yeah. Yes. He got shot._

_You saw this?_

_I saw it. Mom, he’s dead. They were saying on the news, but I knew already. There was so much blood. I looked at him, I knew nobody could survive that, but the guys were telling me he wasn’t hurt bad, they were saying we had to leave now. They said nobody would know it was us. They’d told me he’d get better, I- Mom, I swear, I didn’t know it was going to happen!_

_Stores have cameras, Ajay._

_Yeah, but-_

_And that man, he had a family. He still does. Maybe by now they’ve been informed of his death, and now they’re facing a future without him. Can you even begin to imagine how that feels? No, don’t look at the floor, that doesn’t have the answers. Look at me. Can you imagine how his family must feel right now?_

_Mom, I need you to- I don’t know what to do._

_Go wash your face, straighten yourself up. And then we are going to the police station, where you will tell them everything you saw. You’ll give them the names of your friends. You’ll tell them who murdered that poor man._

_I can’t do that, they’ll send me to jail!_

_If that’s what they decide is right, then you will go to jail. You did this thing, Ajay. Here are the consequences._

_I can’t._

_Either you go yourself, or I go and give them your name. Yes, I will. But I don’t think you’ll make me do that. I know that my son is not a coward. And I know he won’t leave that grieving family to suffer without justice. He’ll go and admit to what he did, and what he knows, and he’ll accept whatever punishment the law in this country decides is right for him. He’s a brave man. He doesn’t stand back and allow the murder of innocents to go unresolved._

_…okay. Okay. Just give me five minutes. Then we can go._

It took someone dying to wake him up - but the same could be said for Ishwari herself, terrible though it seems. She had to lose a child before she realised she couldn’t keep living her fairytale fantasy behind Pagan’s walls. Just like it took the death of a total stranger for Ajay to realise just how pointless his little vendetta against Ishwari’s secrecy was. And he came to it a little late, but he was trying. He was sorting himself out. They were going to be okay.

Whatever her reasons for sending him to Kyrat, he doesn’t doubt that to her they seemed like the right thing. And she’s always known best. She was all he ever had. She wouldn’t have sent him here if she didn’t think he was strong enough to handle it.

“I’m sorry,” Ajay says. “Mom? I’m really sorry. For…everything. Letting you down, not paying enough attention. I can’t do anything about that now. I made those choices. And now I’m choosing to stay here in Kyrat to try fix things up a little. Don’t…worry about me, yeah? You just stay with Lakshmana, she needs you more. I’m okay. I think I’m gonna be okay. I love you.” On impulse he reaches out and touches the Kyra statue’s cheek with his fingertips. Like the ground, it’s warm to the touch. He closes his eyes. “Love you, Mom. You take care now.”

And then he’s all out of things to say, pulling himself to his feet and checking his watch to find, to his surprise, that he’s killed half an hour already. Just sitting in the dirt, talking to a statue. Talking to Ishwari.

He wouldn’t say he feels _better_ exactly; no force in the world except time is going to achieve that. It’s not like he suddenly has closure. Nothing’s changed. But that the same time…something’s come loose inside him. A small part of the thickness tarring up his insides, his own personal substitute for proper grief. He feels a little lighter. That has to count for something.

Ajay starts making his way back up to the bell tower. He thinks about leaving something in front of the statue as others clearly have, some money maybe, but it seems a little unnecessary. The Tree of Life’s had more from him than it got from anyone else, he’s sure.

Sabal meets him half way. Ajay sees him approach and purposefully doesn’t let himself slow down.

“Time to go?” he asks without expression.

Sabal just nods. “In a minute. We’re just loading the vehicles now.”

“Okay.”

“Can we talk?” Sabal falls into step beside him. “I was hoping to catch you away from the others, before we head off to the Arena.”

“I can’t stop you, _regent_. Go ahead.”

“What I did back there.” Sabal stops walking and Ajay turns to look at him, to see the unhappy expression on his face. “I…could have handled that better.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“I should have defended your right to refuse. I didn’t. That was wrong of me, brother, I apologise.”

 _Okay,_ Ajay goes to say. _Thank you._ But the words stick in his throat, and over Sabal’s shoulder he can still see the tree on its hill. Flags on string, fluttering bright. _Tell the truth, Ajay,_ says a voice on the wind. _Lies will only hurt people, you know that. Forgiveness comes from honesty._

“Funny,” he says quietly. His guts churn; he says it anyway. “You weren’t so big on apologising before. Or defending me, when you should have. _No_ ,” he cuts in as Sabal goes to speak. “I’m not done yet. You know I don’t pray. That’s never been an issue. And if converting to your faith was a requirement for being your second, it’s a little late to tell me now. But I don’t think it is. It wasn’t before. Only suddenly you’re letting people force it on me, and when I look to you for _support_ , you tell me I’m causing problems. What the hell happened to having my back? What, does that only count when you’re happy with me? Does it…just not apply when I’m not agreeing with every word you say?”

Sabal’s eyes narrow. “You’re misrepresenting the situation.”

“I’m fucking _not_. I looked to you for support. I was…uncomfortable with how things were going, and I really needed you to back me up back there, and you didn’t. You basically just threw me under a bus. So what I’m taking from all this is, I can only count on you when things are good between us? Otherwise you’re just going to pretend we don’t have a commitment to support each other, to _back each other up_ when we need it? I looked to you. Why did you do that to me?” But he’s all out of words, and he’s said too much anyway. More than he should have done.

Should have just kept his mouth shut. Accepted it and moved on. It wasn’t that much of an issue, not really. Not worth picking a fight over. He can deal. He takes a last look at the tree and its statue, and turns away. “You know what, just forget it. I’m done here.”

He makes it three steps before there’s a hand on his shoulder, pulling him to a standstill. Sabal backs away as Ajay turns to looks at him. He lifts his hands; _there, brother. Not a threat._

“You’re right,” he says, and Ajay blinks at him.

“What?”

“You want to hear it again? Fine. You’re right, Ajay. I let you down back there. Worse; I didn’t give you the support you should have had from me.” Sabal lifts his chin. He’s clearly forcing the words out, but they sound honest, at least. If a little resentful. “I don’t tolerate betrayal. Not from anyone. Not even myself. I should have spoken for you.”

“Uh, _yeah_ ,” Ajay says. “Like, I get that right now you’re kind of pissed off at me? That’s fine. It’s _mutual_. But letting it carry over into something completely unrelated is….really not cool. Kind of figured you were better than that.”

Sabal looks away. “I am. Usually. But I agree, my actions back there were a little on the childish side. If we argue on personal matters, it shouldn’t be allowed to spill over into everything else. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Okay. Glad we cleared that up.”

They look at each other for a long moment. Then Sabal offers a hand; it takes Ajay a moment to realise he’s supposed to shake it, like they’re sealing some kind of peace accord, a ceasefire in a battle neither of them was prepared to be fighting. God, what the hell is _wrong_ with them? Things were good. They worked well together, there was _so much chemistry_ going on between them.

What happened after Durgesh was enough to convince him. When the war was over, they were going to do amazing things together. They were going to _be_ amazing together. Because they already were.

He can’t work out where that all went.

Ajay ignores the offered handshake (awkward, like the gesture doesn’t come naturally to Sabal, but he imagines it must do to Ajay). He steps past it and wraps his arms around Sabal’s shoulders. Sabal hugs him back. Hesitant, probably confused by the suddenness. But he does it.

“We’re good,” Ajay says, squeezing him a bit tighter. “On this. I forgive you.”

“Thanks.”

“Guess they’re going to be waiting on us, huh.”

“They will be,” Sabal agrees. He releases Ajay with clear reluctance, but once the hug is broken he steps out of reach, his posture straightening. Back to being the unquestioned leader. Almost. “We won’t be staying long at Shanath Arena. Just long enough to see things started, and then I’ll be leaving a few soldiers to oversee the process. We’ll be back in Banapur within the week, I promise. I know that’s where you wanted to go.”

“Hey, I go wherever you’re going,” Ajay says. “I don’t mind travelling.”

“You’ve earnt a rest; we all have. I shouldn’t be surprised that things are so…rocky just now. Everyone’s suffering under the strain. It’ll be good to get home and spend a few days in peace before we have to get moving again.”

“Yeah,” Ajay says as they crest the hill and the vehicles come into view. “You know what, that’d be really appreciated. Whenever we’re done at the Arena.”

They separate then; it’s the last Ajay sees of him for the rest of the journey.

There’s a familiar face standing by a beaten up car at the gates up to Shanath Arena; Ajay stares out the window of his SUV for a long moment, not entirely certain that what he’s seeing is real. It can’t be. Because he’s almost certain that-

“Hey! Longinus!” The man lifts his head from a stack of crates he’s rummaging through, giving Ajay a wave. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Ajay, my child, it is good to see you again. Come, come, surely you can spare a moment to talk to an old friend?”

“You’re not _that_ old,” Ajay laughs, for what feels like the first time in weeks. “Okay, hold up, I’ll be with you in a second.” He gets the okay from the SUV’s driver, tugging the door open and jumping out as it slows for him. “Catch you guys at the Arena. Try not to run anyone over, it looks kinda crowded.” He jogs over to Longinus, tripping several times on the overgrown grass, narrowly stopping himself from hugging the other man. He’s just so…god, he doesn’t even know. Glad to find someone he knows here, relieved to see a friend. And yeah, Longinus qualifies, weird though he is.

“Hey,” Ajay says, in lieu of the hug he doesn’t quite dare try for. “I thought you were leaving the country?”

Longinus nods to him. “We can never truly know what the Lord has in store for us. One day, we think our calling lies in distant lands, and the next…well. The next we discover our business in this one is not quite concluded. Will you sit with me, Ajay? Share a drink for old times?” He nudges a crate over with his foot; from under the unsecured lid, Ajay can see a couple of sleek rifle barrels peeking out. He shakes his head.

“Thanks, but I’m expected up at the Arena. Are you going to be here a little while? I could come by later.”

“I will stay as long as I am able. The Lord works in mysterious ways; he came to me in a dream, you know.”

“Did he.”

“Yes, he did.” Longinus turns away for a moment, hauling another crate out of the trunk of his car. Ajay moves to help him; together, they settle it on the grass. “Thank you. He was not clear in this dream, you understand. There were no words spoken. Only a sense of urgency, as though in my hurry to chase down new sins, I had forgotten something very important. I woke troubled. I searched inside myself for the source of this disturbance; what could I be forgetting?”

“I don’t know. Did you leave the stove on, something like that?”

Longinus ignores him, reaching into the trunk to pull an old blanket aside, revealing a pile of hopefully unloaded assault rifles. “For days, I worried. All the way to the Kyrati border. And there, as I passed a night in the home of a friend, I came to realise what that was.”

“Huh. Cool,” Ajay says. “You going to tell me?”

Longinus starts handing him guns. Ajay lays them gently on the grass by the crates, carefully checking each one to make sure they’re all unloaded, safeties on. The last thing they need right now is an _accident_. He doesn’t doubt that some of the crates Longinus has lying around contain explosives; C4, grenades, who the hell even knows. This guy hunts deer with rocket launchers.

“I heard a rumour,” Longinus says. “About a temple, in a place they call _Jalendu_.” He turns to Ajay expectantly, too quick for Ajay to hide his flinch.

“Uh…wow. Yeah, I guess that place would pop up in gossip these days. That’s where they made Bhadra the Tarun Matara-“

“I heard,” Longinus interrupts, “Of executions.”

“That too.”

“The killing of Golden Path soldiers; good men and women, who supported Amita in her struggle to free this country from the tyranny of a warlord. Their throats were slit as they knelt, helpless. A godless way of killing. The slaughter of allies, who wished only for peace in this bloody land. Another terrible business, I think. I heard this rumour on the border, and I knew what my forgotten duty was. I turned around immediately. And now, here I am.”

“Here you are,” Ajay agrees. “Not sure what you think you can do though. The people at Jalendu…they’re dead. You can’t help them. I sure couldn’t.”

“You were present at these executions.” Longinus looks something indecipherable at him.

“Yeah.”

“That is what concerns me.”

Ajay takes the rocket launcher Longinus gives him. He has questions, a lot of them, but he’s kind of feeling like the answers are going to come if and when Longinus feels like giving them. He’s back for some reason that he clearly considers to be important enough to put the diamond hunt aside for a while. Must be serious.

“So…you’re going to stick around? Because of Jalendu.” Ajay keeps his tone neutral.

Longinus shrugs. “Jalendu, yes. Among other things. This business at Shanath Arena as well. Tell me, Ajay: how does it strike you?”

“That’s not up to me,” Ajay says. “Nobody even _asked_ me what I thought. But, like, I get why it’s happening. People are angry. All those funerals, and there was never any justice for people who lost family or friends. So I guess this is as good as it gets. Trials. Executions.”

“’I will execute great vengeance on them with wrathful rebukes. Then they will know that I am the Lord, when I lay my vengeance upon them.’” Longinus says, uncharacteristically soft. “Ezekiel 25:17. This new regent assumes the power of the Lord, it seems. To give life, or death. That is a power to be handled with great care.”

“You try telling him that.” Ajay glances up the path to the Arena. By now, the rest of the convoy must have arrived. They’ll be waiting on him. “Hey, I…think I have to go. I’m sorry. I’ll come by later, if you’re around? It’d be nice to talk for a while.”

“You are welcome in my home at any time.”

“Thanks. See you soon, I guess.”

“Ajay,” Longinus calls, and Ajay turns back to find him toying with a handgun.

“Yeah?”

“Psalm 3:6. ‘I will not fear the tens of thousands drawn up against me on every side.’”

Ajay cracks a smile, shaking his head. “Okay, let me guess. Uh…some kind of machine gun? Wait, tens of thousands. Artillery strike? Nuke? Am I getting warmer?”

“I am sorry, Ajay,” Longinus says, and he looks it. Looks more regretful than he did over the diamonds. His sins. “For this, I have no weapon to give you. Only advice: you will make enemies. Maybe you already have, hm? Maybe you do not know it yet. But those who have lived for years in the darkness find the light to be a painful thing; it burns them, frightens them, and they strike out against it in terror. You are the bringer of that light. And you will find the blinded drawn up on your every side, to strike against what burns them, and what they do not understand. But you will not fear them. You are a stronger man than they believe you to be, and you do not fall easily.”

“Uh…thank you?”

“You are also very young,” Longinus tells him. His mouth is a firm line; he toys with the safety on his handgun in a way that makes Ajay want to start inching out of firing range. “You were not raised to warfare in the way of your enemies. Should you decide that your calling lies away from this land of sinners…remember. ‘A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.’”

“Is that Psalms too?”

“Proverbs. Do not forget it, Ajay. If you find yourself losing faith, you know how to find me. I will not leave this land without telling you. And I am ready to go at any time. Come to me if the adversity threatens to extinguish your light, and together we will seek out your calling someplace else. Whether that place is at my side, in Cuba or South America…or to the door of the US Embassy in New Delhi, where I will lead you and bid you farewell. That is your choice to make, my child.”

The gun is lowered so Longinus can cross himself with it. And finally, Ajay gets what’s going on here.

He’s being offered a way out.

“Do you really think…” he hesitates, unsure of what he wants to say. “You think it’s going to get bad? Like, worse than before?”

Longinus shrugs. “It is the Lord’s place to know, and ours to listen, and act. I cannot see the future. But I can tell you of what I did see, in a past life. What I did know. I knew warlords, Ajay. Terrible men, armed with rage and greed and hatred. With _guns_. I cannot say whether or not this country’s new regent is one of those men; only he knows that. But if he is, he will show us, and soon. And then you will have a choice to make. Only remember that if you wish to leave, I am your friend, and your brother in adversity. I will not abandon the lamb to a warlord’s mercy. Never that.”

Longinus turns his back, reaching into another crate, and Ajay finds himself dismissed.

He trudges back to the Arena’s entrance, mind buzzing. Longinus is…not exactly stable, by any stretch of the imagination. Who reads the bible and decides to interpret it as a guide for gun ownership? _Eccentric_ is the mildest way of putting it.

But all that changes when he talks about his past. The diamonds, the deaths, the things he did. He’s completely lucid on those subjects, and now Ajay remembers the first time he returned to Longinus with a small yellow box of stones. Disappointed; he was expecting a weapons shipment. Asking for answers.

 _They lie to you_ , Longinus told him, and it was the closest to gentle Ajay’s ever seen from the man. _You know this_.

But he didn’t. He didn’t know, or maybe he just didn’t _want_ to know, and Longinus was the only person to warn him without an agenda on the side. Because _he_ knew what he was seeing. Pagan, the Golden Path, different names and different people, but Longinus still recognised them all. And now he’s made the choice to stick around a little longer. He has to know it won’t be exactly safe for him; Ajay wonders how long it’ll be before a Kyra priest notices some mad Christian gun-missionary preaching Jesus outside Shanath Arena. Pretty soon, Longinus will be getting a visit from a lot of people who want him to sell his goods and otherwise keep his mouth shut. Best of luck to them. Longinus doesn’t seem the kind of back down easy.

But he’s staying anyway. And the main reason seems to be Ajay, and this idea that he might be in over his head. Like maybe he doesn’t know what Sabal is capable of. Who he is. _What_ he is.

The Arena’s entrance comes into view, lake on the right and gates on the left. Noore’s old guards are still in attendance; they have jewels in their ears and hair, brightly dyed shirts buttoned up to their throats. That’s new. He spares a moment to wonder who changed their outfits. Or…previous lack thereof. Maybe the priests insisted.

And then he turns his attention to the prisoners.

It’s not as if he could have just ignored them. Those red Royal Army uniforms stand out bright in the middle of their blue-clad guards and the mess of civilians crowding around to watch them be led, single file, into the Arena.

The cheering is probably a little unnecessary. A rock gets thrown from the crowd, striking a soldier. Ajay winces in sympathy. _Little hypocritical, guys_ , he wants to tell the crowd. The trials haven’t been officially announced yet, and the only people who would have been around Shanath Arena in time to witness this spectacle are the ones who came to see the usual fights. No doubt they cheered just as loud all those times it was Golden Path soldiers down on the sand. Some of them probably saw _him_ down there.

Some must have watched Noore die.

Closer, Ajay finds the prisoners to be a motley mixture of Royal Army soldiers. There are no Royal Guards in sight. They look a lot smaller without their guns and armour, bare of helmets. Like this, they just look like a line of terrified men. They’ve been left in their red uniforms though; must be easier to see a colour than a person.

Ajay watches them pass through the Arena entrance one by one, tied to one another like beads on string. They all look around, look for a kindly face, or a less than cruel one. Some of them beg. But the crowd jeers back, and Ajay can’t make out any specifics.

This must be the first group the Golden Path found. They can’t have been that good, if they were captured that easily. Some of those red uniforms look practically new.

“They don’t seem like much of a threat, huh,” he comments, moving to stand next to one of Noore’s nameless guards. He makes sure to stay just out of reach; they have a thing for prodding him with gun barrels if he wanders too close. Though neither of them has a weapon that he can see. Small mercies. As it is, he braces for the usual, _fuck off, kid. We’re on the clock._

The woman says nothing. Inches away from him, even, one hand drifting up to the collar of her shirt. She pulls it further closed. Drops her hand back to her side when she catches him looking.

“You too, huh.” she says expressionlessly. “You’re all the same in the end. Shame you’ll have to wait your turn.”

“What?“

Her expression doesn’t change; deep bruises spread blue-black under her eyes. “Fuck you. We were happy with Noore. She made it so nobody ever dared do more than look at us. Fuck you. Fuck all of you Golden Path animals.”

“Wait, what are you talking about?”

She doesn’t reply.

He’s called away then, waved over to the doors by a group of friendly soldiers in blue and gold who call him _son of Mohan_ and want to tell him about how they took this group of Royal Army traitors captive. They want his praise; his approval. They want him to smile and tell them they’re doing their country proud. They laugh and congratulate him on his _promotion_. Regent’s right-hand man. He must be proud. Honoured. He must be full of such hope for the future of Kyrat.

Ajay watches the last of the prisoners file through the doors, carefully avoiding the darting, desperate looks they throw him. He agrees; he is proud, honoured. He believes things are going to get better from now on. He does. Just as soon as these traitors are dealt with. There is no other way.

 _My son is not a coward_ , Ishwari whispers in the back of his mind. Ajay keeps his gaze well away from the captives, and tries to tell himself he isn’t making a liar of her.

_ Out. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Chapter title comes from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D1RZslLUjEQ).  
> 2\. The dead store clerk is part of Ajay's [canonical backstory](http://far-cry.ubi.com/en-GB/game-info/characters.aspx). I took a lot of creative liberties with the rest of it.  
> 3\. Thank you to the people leaving lovely comments! I'm too shy to reply to them mostly, but I read them all repeatedly when I'm stuck on something. You're the best!


	5. Hey, Young Blood

Paul ‘De Pleur’ Harmon dies on an otherwise unremarkable afternoon in Shanath Arena; bleeds out in minutes, soaking the sands, and to his last breath he begs and begs and begs for his daughter.

Or so Ajay is told.

He doesn’t see it happen; doesn’t hear it, doesn’t witness the famous _blood-soaked_ sands, and by the time he returns from a complicated errand that Sabal swears is necessary, even the body is long since gone. That’s a running theme these past few days; people are dying in Shanath Arena, and Ajay doesn’t see any of it. He’s turned away every time he gets too close to the door. _Regent’s orders._ Nobody says it outright, but they don’t have to.

He’s told the executions will slow, once the officers and foreign Royal Guard soldiers are dealt with. Sabal makes a vague remark about needing labourers for the mines, and Ajay thinks back to something he once heard Rabi say on the radio. Slavery. Pyramids. He tries not to think about it too much after that.

True to his word, Sabal doesn’t stretch out his visit to the Arena. By the end of the week, the orders are given: start packing, we leave at dawn. Maybe the only highlight of the whole ordeal is that Rajesh will be staying behind. To _oversee_ , apparently. To _supervise._

Ajay looks for Noore’s guards, the day before he’s scheduled to leave. Looks everywhere he can think of, or at least as close as he can get to the Arena before he’s told he can’t go any further. They’ve vanished. Or maybe they’re inside, dragging naked prisoners out in chains. Business as usual. Drugging more victims for the crowds that grow by the day, to watch the vengeance Sabal promised them and bet what they can’t afford to lose. For some reason, the gambling is one industry that didn’t get shut down; it’s taxed, now, and otherwise ignored. Figures. See no evil, reap the benefits.

He tries not to worry too much about Noore’s people. They’re useful; the Golden Path wouldn’t damage useful resources. That would be…crazy. Pagan Min levels of crazy, and he still believes they’re better than that. What else can he do?

Longinus waves him off on the day he leaves. There’s a line of people waiting in front of the tent he’s pitched near the Arena entrance, but he brushes past them all to give Ajay a toothy grin.

“I will see you soon, no doubt,” he says. “The new regent will have great need of my services. And for the moment…” He claps Ajay on the shoulder, an unfamiliar warmth. “Remember Ephesians 6:10. ‘Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power.’ Keep this in mind, and keep that grenade launcher I gave you well oiled. Its might is yours, and the might of the Lord- and in these troubled times, one can never have too many mighty guns.”

“Sure thing,” Ajay tells him. “You take care, okay? And thank you.”

It hurts to turn his back on a friend, and worse still when his neck prickles with the force of the other man’s resigned expectation. Like he’s seen it all and knows that they’re heading straight to hell, and soon. Like there’s nothing they can do to change things.

Well, he’s wrong.

He has to be.

The trip back home is measured in moments of silence; the unspeaking convoy, soldiers lacking in laugher. The Arena weighs them down more than their luggage and crates of carefully packed weapons. Ajay sits with almost strangers, and doesn’t speak.

They stop for lunch at Chal Jama Monastery, where the skeletal structures of watch towers push their way out from under the tree cover, as yet ugly and useless. At least the checkpoint is in place. He tries not to feel too concerned about how easily they clear it. No doubt the regent gets a different treatment to what they extend to pilgrims.

They don’t see Bhadra. Lunch is taken on the dry grass outside the monastery, huddled in groups, and Sabal disappears inside the monastery itself - but the Tarun Matara might as well not exist, and Ajay doesn’t dare ask about her. She’s probably busy. She may not even know he’s here. She _would_ come see him, if she did. If she was allowed to. In the end he joins a few of the convoy soldiers in skipping stones over the pond. If nothing else, it gets a few laughs.

Pilgrims drift past, but the priests are as absent as Bhadra, and Ajay finds himself counting down to the end of the hour Sabal gave them to rest up. It’s eerie here. He wants to be gone. Needs to be back in Banapur, where things will go back to normal, and the last few weeks can start seeming like a dream he had and doesn’t want to remember.

“Is she okay?” he asks when Sabal rejoins them, exactly on the hour. And for a moment he thinks he’s just going to be ignored, brushed past, like it’s none of his business – and then Sabal meets his eyes and nods slowly.

“The Tarun Matara is fine,” he says. “Just…not too happy with either of us right now.” A corner of his mouth twitches. “Raju says we can probably avoid catastrophe by making a sizeable donation to the shrine repair fund.”

“It’s _his_ fault we’re even in this mess.”

Sabal’s smile widens, and Ajay finds himself smiling tentatively back. “We talked about that. I’ve made it very clear what I think of his interfering, and he’s promised to stop filling her head with distractions. I was very clear on that.”

“Wish I’d been there,” Ajay mutters, and Sabal squeezes his shoulder; the first time in days.

“Next time, brother,” he says. “I’ve no doubt there’ll be similar problems in the future; some of these people need a reminder that their support is valued – not invaluable.”

 _Longinus is right, you’re a terrible person,_ Ajay thinks, but he climbs back into his SUV in a better mood.

They reach Banapur around mid-afternoon, stopping the convoy at the base of the hill. Too many vehicles, one of Ajay’s neighbours explains as they get out. There are worries about congestion on the narrow hillside roads, so everyone who can walk, does. Luggage gets extracted from the vehicles and slung over backs and shoulders; dusty, tired, and ready to rest. Straggling up the hill like dazed ants heading home with their burdens.

Ajay is first to the top, staggering relieved as Banapur’s smoke and prayer flags drift into view. He closes his eyes. _Made it_.

“Hey! Hey, Ajay! Oh em gee, Ajay Ghale, about time you came back to civilisation!” Waiting at one of the gates is a familiar face in a blinding yellow T-Shirt, waving until his arm blurs like helicopter rotors. “Dude, I was so worried about you, you don’t even know. Taking down fortresses, the _royal goddamn palace_? Killing Pagan Min himself? I mean, I’m not saying I couldn’t have done it, because I totally could. I’d have gone Rambo all over his ass if I had the chance- but someone had to stay and look after Chotu, you know? I promised his Mom. You can’t just go back on that, it’s bad karma, next thing you know you get reincarnated as something gross, like chlamydia.”

His teeth flash white in a grin Ajay can’t help but return. “Hey Rabi. How’re you doing? Who’s running the radio station?”

“Brought all my equipment with me, I got friends taking care of the tunes for a couple of hours.” Rabi steps out on the path to meet him, affecting a swagger that backfires on him when one foot lands squarely in a pothole. “Mother _fuck_. No, hey, it’s cool, everything’s fine, don’t worry about calling a medic. Rabi Ray Rana is in the house, and Kyrat is free! And that’s all down to you, my man.”

“Happy to help,” Ajay tells him. He grabs the other man by one flailing arm, helping him back up to stable ground.

“Thanks dude, you are such a hero. Seriously. You would not believe how many people I had calling in, telling me, _Rabi, you gotta head over to Banapur and meet up with Ajay, because he literally saved the country and you need to tell him he’s the best_. I mean, sure, you’d be even better if you’d stop getting all tongue tied every time I try to interview you- but shit happens, right? We can’t all be perfect. I’m pretty much as close as it gets, but you’re not doing too bad yourself.”

“Thank you.” Ajay turns as the rest of his travelling group start catching up, climbing the path with heavy packs, guns, and tired homecoming smiles. It doesn’t take long to find the person he’s looking for and beckon for him to come over. “Hey, did you ever meet Sabal? I know you were more team Amita-”

“Ajay, don’t even speak her name to me, I’m still in mourning. Heart. Broken. I had her victory party all planned out yo, there was going to be so much weed. And _strippers,_ literally everywhere. I’ve been saving up my five rupee notes for months!”

“Uh,” Ajay says. “Okay then. Well, that’s not going to happen anymore, but Sabal’s in charge now, and maybe you should talk to him? Just seems like a good idea for the most popular DJ in the country to be on good terms with the regent. Maybe?” But his heart sinks as he says it, because if the look on Rabi’s face is discouraging, then the look on Sabal’s approaching one is…worse. A lot worse. A few seconds too late, Ajay clicks. “Oh. You’ve already met.”

“Briefly.” Sabal comes to stand at his side. He gives Rabi a cool nod; Ajay watches the younger man’s eyes drift to the assault rifle slung over Sabal’s shoulder, and winces mentally.

“Rabi did some good work for the Golden Path,” he says firmly. “He found all Pagan’s propaganda centres and sent me the directions; he’s kind of the reason nobody’s seen any of those old posters in months.”

“I was pretty great,” Rabi agrees. “I’m telling you Ajay, you and me? We’re unstoppable. I’m like the Q to your Bond! The Coulson to your Avenger! And you, you’re like a _machine_! I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again, it’s like you’re just naturally good at killing people, only you have this big, gentle heart, so you only go apeshit on the bad guys? They’re going to make a _movie_ about you, and then cast some white dude to play your part and erase our bromance completely because it makes Hollywood uncomfortable.”

“Okay, now you’re just exaggerating-“

“Oh hey, that reminds me. I had this poll on the station, I don’t know if you heard it? No? That’s cool, just makes it more of a surprise. So I was asking all my loyal listeners what I should do when I saw you again, because they all know we’re bee eff eefs and obviously I had to come down to Banapur and congratulate you, right?”

Ajay sees Sabal shift impatiently out of the corner of his eye. “That’s great, but you really don’t have to-”

He doesn’t get any further before Rabi steps in, places a hand on either side of his face and kisses him.

 _Huh,_ is Ajay’s first thought, and hot on its heels comes, _oh dude, tell me that isn’t tongue._ Last, and most important: _Sabal is going to murder him._ He fumbles for Rabi’s shoulders and pushes him gently off; the other man doesn’t put up any fight. He’s still laughing; raising a hand to smooth his hair back like nothing just happened.

“So anyway,” he says, “That was on behalf of all my hot female listeners. And some of the guys as well, not that I’m naming any names. That would be unprofessional. But it was totally Chotu, just so you know, he was practically begging me to do that.”

Ajay isn’t listening. He turns to Sabal, takes in the frozen expression, disbelief just starting to cloud over into something a lot more dangerous. “ _Don’t_ ,” he says. “Please, he’s just- he does stuff like this, leave him alone. He’s a friend.”

“Is he?” Sabal asks; his tone is deceptively mild. The look in his eyes is…terrifying. “He certainly gets around; he was close to Amita too, or so I’m told.”

“Don’t, Sabal, please-”

“Oh, I was totally team Amita,” Rabi interjects. “I mean, I shit myself every time she called me up, that lady had some serious anger issues and I told her more than once that she’d get a lot more love if she got some counselling done, but she wasn’t interested. Which, hey, that was up to her. But she was _fun_ , you know? She was really going to put Kyrat on the _map._ Number one party destination!”

“Rabi, can you not-“

“I’m not surprised to find you were in favour of Amita’s heroin empire,” Sabal says coldly. “Your name is only reason you’re not being dragged off to Shanath Arena for a traitor’s trial. I remember the sacrifices made by your family, even if you don’t.”

Rabi flinches back. Ajay steps towards him, maybe to comfort, maybe to make him stop talking; maybe just because someone needs to be standing between him and Sabal right now. Regent doesn’t go anywhere unarmed anymore, if he ever did. He wouldn’t even have to resort to his rifle either; the kukri strapped to his hip would do the job just fine. Like it has in the past.

“Okay,” Ajay says, glancing between the two men. He tries not to feel too _deer in the headlights_ as he does. “You know what, this was a terrible idea. My bad. How about we all head back to Banapur and pretend it didn’t happen?”

“Whatever,” Rabi says. His lower lip sticks out like a child’s; his fists are clenched. “I mean, this just goes to show I was right, you know? I’ve been telling people for years that supporting this guy was a bad idea. And you know what, I’m gonna tell you too, because apparently you weren’t listening to my station as much as you could have been. I get it, you were busy. But in case you missed it: the dude is _batshit fucking insane._ All that Kyra bullshit’s gone to his head, if anyone pisses him off he just has them killed and calls it divine justice or something. I had a poll once asking people what they thought his deal was? I mean, there were a couple of crazies who thought he was a reptile in a human skin suit, because he’s all cold and slimy-”

“ _Rabi._ ”

“-or maybe a robot from the future who came to kill the ancestors of people who are going to be really important in the human/robot war we’re going to be fighting in about a hundred years? That sound about right to you?”

He directs the question to Sabal himself, who doesn’t reply. His expression is blank; one hand lingers near the kukri on his hip.

“Guess you wouldn’t tell me if you were,” Rabi says, apparently feeling that he’s winning this round. “But I won’t lie, my favourite theory was that you have the world’s tiniest dick, and you’ve never gotten laid in your life. How about that one, huh? Sound a bit closer to the truth? It’s okay; that’s what hookers are for, and now you’re regent you can actually afford to hire one.”

Sabal laughs briefly; there is no humour in the sound. “Reusing old material, I see. I shouldn’t be surprised; you’ve always been something of a disappointment, haven’t you? The black sheep of the family.”

“You shut the fuck up about my family.”

“Why? You should be proud of what they gave for your country. Why not tell Ajay what happened to them?” He glances over at Ajay, who suddenly regrets placing himself in the middle of this argument. Feels like he’s under fire from both directions. Feels like he should be picking a side, and isn’t _that_ familiar.

Rabi isn’t saying anything. Ajay throws him a panicked look. “I think I might have met some of your family?” he tries. “Up in Utkarsh?” With a sudden, sinking feeling, he realises where the story is headed. “They, um, seemed nice,” he finishes lamely.

“Pagan had them killed,” Rabi says quietly. “That’s what I heard. I didn’t know you got to meet them.”

“Yeah. Yeah I…did. Kind of.”

“They were soldiers,” Sabal says. “Like your parents were, and your brother still is. They fought for our cause; I have the greatest respect for them. Which makes _you_ something of a waste, wouldn’t you say? The only coward in the Rana family. You, you spent the war cowering in your _undisclosed location,_ doing what?” He doesn’t give Rabi a chance to reply. “Talking. Hiding behind your words, while outside in the real world your people were dying to keep you safe.”

“I was _boosting morale_ , you son of a bitch,” Rabi snaps, sudden and high. His shoulders hunch like an animal ready to spring. “Every day, I was giving people news, I was giving them hope! What I do, that is important work. You just can’t get your head around the idea that maybe I can win just as many battles as you, only I don’t need any guns to do it. I am _not_ a coward. I made Uncle Rana proud.”

Sabal doesn’t say anything. And for a long moment, Ajay wonders if it’s over; this brief, vicious encounter, raw pain in Rabi’s voice and disgust in Sabal’s. Maybe they can just go. God, he feels so helpless here.

“It’s good to see you haven’t forgotten the man yet,” Sabal says quietly. Ajay closes his eyes. “His funeral was very moving. A great many people attended to pay their respects to a hero of our cause.”

“Yeah, well, that’s nice for some,” Rabi says. Ajay opens his eyes to glance over at him and regrets it. He looks seconds away from crying. “I would have gone if I could. If it wasn’t all the way up in Utkarsh, across the King’s Bridge-”

“But that would have required you to leave your safe house. And you wouldn’t do that, even for a funeral. _Coward_.”

“I would have gone!” Rabi shouts. Ajay jumps at the sudden volume, unintentionally backing away from it. Stepping into Sabal’s space. “I don’t have guns, or…or training, or people to watch my back for me, but I would still have gone. If you’d just sent me a convoy, or some kind of escort!”

“But why would I do that?” Sabal’s tone is utterly reasonable. He reaches over to rest a hand on Ajay’s shoulder without looking at him; his eyes are fixed on Rabi. “You were _team Amita_. You’re actually proud of the years you spent trying to turn people against me, with your jokes and your taunts. If you wanted an escort into the north, you should have gone to your ally of choice. I don’t owe you anything. And your shame, your cowardice…that’s not on me. Grow a backbone, you leech. Take some responsibility for yourself, for once in your worthless life. You’re running low on people willing to die for you.”

He squeezes Ajay’s shoulder then, tugging him away from the argument. Clearly he’s done here; had the last word, caused the most damage. Ajay follows him without resisting. Glances over his shoulder a few times, but Rabi stays where they left him, staring down at the dirt, and the comeback Ajay’s waiting for doesn’t happen.

For possibly the first time in his life, Rabi Ray Rana has nothing to say.

There’s barely a moment’s peace after that. Not a second alone to gather his thoughts and try shuffle the day’s events into something resembling coherency. They arrive; Banapur’s people are waiting, lining the street, expectant apprehension. Sabal passes them all with nods and a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

They gather in the fields just outside the village, new green growth brushing against their legs, shorter than it should be at this time of year. Pagan will never know just how much damage he did with his attack. Banapur’s crops used to be enough to feed everyone. Now they’re having to coordinate food trucks from neighbouring regions, extra hunting teams to keep people from starving. This, on top of everything.

Banhi is waiting next to a parked tractor, talking to the woman sitting on it. With a start, Ajay realises the bundle in the other woman’s arms isn’t provisions, or a weapon.

He can’t remember the last time he saw a baby.

“Uh, hey,” he says as he approaches. “Banhi, how’ve you been? Everything okay?”

She turns to greet him, one finger to her lips. “Keep it down, yar, you’ll wake Jaya up, and she won’t like that one bit.”

“She’ll get used to it,” the mother says. She doesn’t moderate her volume. “There’ll be a lot of these meetings, and she’ll be seeing as many as I can come to. I’m not leaving the running of this country to men alone. They just don’t have enough in the way of perspective.”

“Ajay, this is Omkari,” Banhi says, waving at the woman. “And Jaya’s the baby she didn’t bother to tell us she was expecting.”

Omkari shrugs. “Why would I? I had my job to do, and you had yours. So long as she wasn’t interfering with my aim, what did it matter?” She appraises Ajay with sharp brown eyes, nodding slowly. “So you’re my replacement? You don’t look like much. Could use a square meal or two, but then, we all could. I hear your aim is as good as mine, or thereabouts.”

“I guess,” Ajay says. “But I wasn’t playing armed escort while pregnant. That’s incredible.”

She smiles. “I see _you_ weren’t raised around here. That’s hopeful; we need voices like yours in government, or Kyrat’s going to end up right back where it started, if not worse.”

“Is that why you’re here? You and, uh, Jaya?” She’s a cute kid, swaddled in brightly dyed blue wool. Tiny nose, eyes shut in sleep. At ease with the world. He appreciates that nobody asks him to hold her.

“That’s one reason.” Omkari shares a meaningful look with Banhi as a couple of Kyra priests make their away down from the village to join the group. “I’m also here to raise the issue of caring for war orphans, and the disarming of all those unexploded mines we’ve got littering fields all over the country. It’s like nobody seems to remember they exist, but people are getting blown apart just because they take a shortcut to the next village. We’re responsible for some of those mines; we need to remove them. I’ll shoot the damn things apart myself, one at a time, if I have to. If the regent will fund my ammo and wages.”

“As you can see, motherhood’s made her completely unreasonable,” Banhi says wryly. “War orphans and unexploded landmines. Someone send the woman back to her house, before she starts demanding we fix the roads up a little.”

“Doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.” Ajay folds his arms, leaning on the tractor next to Banhi. He looks around, taking in familiar faces and strange. “Where are Achal and Pranav?”

“At home,” Banhi tells him. “We only got to go back there this morning, we’ve been that busy. Gods know what state the place is in. I’d be there with them, only I wanted to have my say here, if they’re taking ideas. Someone needs to stand for what’s left of the education system. Schools need to be our first priority if we want to give our children a shot at making something of themselves.”

“We all have our agendas,” Omkari murmurs. A little way off, the two priests are engaging Sabal in what looks to be a fairly heated discussion. They must be keeping their voices low; Ajay can’t make out any of it. Neither side seems very happy.

Even after their _victory,_ it’s almost impossible to find any one thing that people can agree on. Agendas. Omkari has a point. He has to wonder how he failed to notice that before now.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” Sabal tells the priests, raising his voice enough that he’s obliged to turn away and face the rest of their ragtag group. Scouts, soldiers, spectators, farmers. But most of the attendants wear blue and gold, and it’s those people Sabal addresses. “Consider this an informal gathering; the real work starts tomorrow, but it seems right to let you all have a say before that. Issues, suggestions, I’m all ears. By now you’ll have heard that Amita is no longer with us-“

“I’ve heard a few things about that, sure,” Banhi murmurs, and Ajay shifts uncomfortably next to her.

“-her loss is regrettable, but it can’t be helped. She lives on in the good work she did for Kyrat; I honour her memory. I’ll see this country brought back to its former glory. We all will. Together, we can fix the damage Pagan caused, if you’ll trust me to lead the way.”

Ajay misses the rest; there’s a tap on his shoulder, and Banhi hands him something, nodding to a Golden Path soldier going around with a basket under his arm. Cellphones, Ajay realises, frowning at the one in his hand. _Nice_ ones. It shouldn’t come as such a surprise; he’s seen people using them, and clearly Pagan had some kind of network set up. But radio was what most of the soldiers seemed to use, and that was how Amita and Sabal seemed to prefer to contact him. The change is a sudden one, and he’s not too sure what it means.

“Is this…for me?” he asks Banhi. In answer, she waves her own black phone in front of him.

“Moving on up, yar, look at us both. Yours is nicer than mine though. Delivery boy said it was for you specifically; something about how it already has the important numbers programmed in? We have chargers too, here.” Ajay takes the cord she gives him, tucking it into a pocket of his jacket. Pulling up the phone’s contacts list reveals more numbers than he knows what to do with, a good half of them for people whose faces he can’t bring to mind. Banhi’s in there; so is Sabal.

“Oh, hey, you got all the important people,” Banhi says, peering over his shoulder. “I don’t have the regent. What a shame.”

“I don’t have anyone,” Omkari says, shrugging, careful not to jostle her baby. “Maybe they thought I’d let Jaya chew on it. Have baby, lose all common sense. Well, I’ll have a word with someone about _that_ when we’re through here. I’m going back out into the field as soon as I can. Pranav won’t mind babysitting, will he? He said he wouldn’t.”

“He can’t wait to,” Banhi tells her. “Strange man. But he was never really happy out in the field. He’d be a lot better off looking after a farm, fishing for our supper. Soon as he can hang his gun up, he’s going to. Good for him, I say.”

Sabal finishes whatever rousing speech he was giving, and it must have been pretty decent if the applause is anything to go by. Ajay joins in, forcing a smile he hopes will hide the fact that he missed it all. He’s heard it before. At Jalendu, at Shanath Arena, now here in Banapur. At the end of the day, it’s all the same thing.

As usual, no one asks him to speak. He’s not sure if he’s grateful for it, or just apprehensive for what it means.

“Some issues take precedence,” Sabal is saying. “Obviously. The poppy fields have to go, and the sooner the better; we’ll be restoring the Kyra Tea factory to its original use within the next few months. The bridge to the north will open to the public as soon as we’ve stamped out the lingering resistance in the hills around Utkarsh. Seven Treasures school is also top of the agenda, and we’ll be building a proper school here in Banapur as soon as possible.”

“A temple as well,” says one of the priests standing at his elbow.

“The school first,” Banhi barks at him. “We’ve got children studying in _goat sheds_ -“

“Our future is reliant on the blessing of the gods. We can’t forget to offer the proper tributes, and to do that we need a temple in the new capital. It’s of vital importance. The children will wait a while longer.”

“Now you listen to me-“

“There’s no reason the temple can’t also function as a school,” Sabal interrupts smoothly. “As is traditional. We’ve been educating children in temples for centuries, and if we can combine the two projects then we free up funding for school materials. Any objections?”

“Not if you’re planning to educate girls and boys as equals,” Omkari says. From her vantage point up on the tractor, she stares down her nose at the priests. “Tradition is one thing, oppression is another. Who are these schools going to be open to?”

“Everyone, of course,” Sabal tells her. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

Ajay looks around the faces at their little meeting, noting the mixed emotions on display. Relief and disapproval, side by side. Smiles, anger. Seems like a pretty even split, and he thinks now he understands why Omkari made a point to come here, baby and all, formal meeting or not. Someone has to ask the difficult questions, and pin Sabal down to an answer in front of witnesses.

 _That should be my job_ , Ajay thinks. His gut gives an uncomfortable lurch at the thought. More confrontation. Just what he wanted.

“And what about us?” Omkari asks. She gestures at herself, at Banhi leaning on the tractor, at the other women in gold and blue in the crowd. They make up almost half the people present. “Will you stay out of our way and let us do our jobs, or are we going to be quietly retired back to our kitchens, hm? What’s your stance on that? I heard there’d be changes in how things are run, and I’m wondering what those _changes_ will be, exactly.”

“Surely you don’t mean to spend the rest of your lives as soldiers,” says the outspoken priest. “We were desperate during wartime, but the gods have seen fit to free us, and it is of the utmost importance that we restore our society to its former balance. Our traditions-“

“I disarm explosives,” says a woman standing near him. She folds her arms over her chest. “I’m good at it. My husband’s a tailor, he gets faint when he sees blood. And he doesn’t want me around the house when he’s working, any more than I’d want him there in the field.” She gets nods from the crowd, mixed in with the muttering. Agreement, objection, and it’s hard to tell which side has the greater numbers.

“- _screw_ your traditions, I’m not-“

“-you turn your backs on the natural order of things, the gods will punish you for it-“

“-and I’m a better shot than he is, he couldn’t hit an _elephant_ if it was standing right in front of him and daring him to do it-“

“Go home,” says another man in the crowd. “Go back to your fathers, or your husbands. You’ve done enough. We’ll take things from here. It’s how things have always been done, and that’s how we’ll rebuild the country. The right way.”

“My husband is dead,” Omkari tells him. “Shot when he wouldn’t work in his kidnappers’ mines. I’ve worn this uniform through bad times and worse, and you can be sure I’m going to keep wearing it. I protected deliveries, scouts, soldiers, temples, and I did it all with my own gun, and my daughter in my belly. You want to hear my kill count? I guarantee it’s higher than yours. There aren’t many people with aim as good as mine. Yours might be,” she says in an aside to Ajay. “I’ll have to test you some day.”

“Do you mean to allow this?” Both Kyra priests turn to Sabal with matching anger. “It’s an outrage. Send them home to their families, where they belong! Anything else is an insult-“

“I will,” Sabal interrupts him.

For a moment things get very quiet. Ajay hears someone nearby gasp; he’s not sure if it was Banhi, Omkari, or him. Might have been all of them. He stares at Sabal, willing him to look over, to ask for advice, an opinion, anything that’ll give Ajay permission to tell him that this can’t happen. They can’t do this.

Jalendu is too fresh in his mind to let him just speak up.

 _Please_ , he thinks. _Please don’t be like this. Amita said you were, but she was wrong. You’re better than you ever let her see._

“I’ll send them home,” Sabal repeats. He turns to the priest and spreads his hands. “Just as soon as you provide me with suitable replacements. _Replacements,_ ” he says, loud enough to break through the sudden influx of noise from all sides, “With equal experience. With the same battle scars, the same hours of training, the long nights on guard duty and camping out in winter nights. Give me grown men who have seen the same horrors and kept fighting, for the sake of their country and their families. I’ll make the switch when you send them to me. But until you do, you’ll have to accept that these are not women, but soldiers.”

“We could be both,” Omkari says, quietly enough that Ajay barely hears her. “But I guess it’s a start. Better than I expected of you, anyway.”

 _Yeah,_ Ajay thinks. He’s almost dazed with relief. _A lot better._

He watches Sabal refusing to be engaged on the matter by anyone who disagrees with him, outright turning his back on the outraged Kyra priests and those soldiers who moved to stand with them. He responds instead to the ones who support him, answering their thanks with reassurances. Looking every inch like he knows exactly what he’s doing, like this was always the plan. Whatever tradition has to say on the matter.

Talk turns to other subjects when Sabal gets tired of repeating himself to latecomers and people who can’t seem to stop themselves from asking the same questions all over again. He has a proposal; a census of the population, to work out how many people actually _live_ in Kyrat, and where, and who they’re related to.

“To establish everyone’s roles in the war,” he adds casually. “There should be a written record of the heroes who made this victory possible, however small their contribution. We’ll make sure those people are remembered. Rewarded for the risks they took.”

“What do you think happens if they just tried to mind their own business and stay out of it?” Omkari asks sardonically, but nobody has an answer for her. She slips away soon after, when the conversation turns to technicalities, the logistical problems associated with organising a census in a ruined country. Banhi hugs her goodbye, kissing Jaya’s forehead. Ajay waves, and gets an approving nod in return. He can’t help but feel like he passed some kind of test.

The next issue presents itself sooner than expected. There is, among the paperwork being handed around for Sabal’s ‘inner circle’ to look at, a list of dwellings being repurposed into offices, storage rooms, classrooms for Banapur’s growing number of children. He squints at the paper; a name jumps out. Way back when he arrived, a family in Banapur offered him their spare room to stay in. Probably because Sabal asked them to, and no doubt he repaid them somehow, though he never talked about it. That room just ended up being where Ajay crashed every time he was in Banapur.

It’s gone now. According to the list, his hosts are donating that space to store medical supplies. That’s good for them; they have two kids, it must be a comfort to know they’re covered in case of emergency. It does, however, raise another problem.

Ajay nudges Banhi, passing her the document for reading. “Hey, uh, weird question maybe, but do we have a…camp ground or something? Where do soldiers stay when they’re passing through? Because I think I might be homeless now.” The homestead up north is too far for convenience. That doesn’t really leave him with a lot of options.

“You weren’t staying with Sabal?” She raises her eyebrows at him, ignoring the list in her hands. “That’s weird, he always has people crashing at his place.”

“I, uh, think Amita wouldn’t let him.”

“Favouritism, huh.”

“Something like that. I don’t know, I guess she thought he might corrupt me or something.”

Banhi snorts with laughter. “I get the feeling it’s not _corrupting_ he wants to do to you. Just a hunch. Oh, sure, we can pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. That’s fine. Can’t promise Pranav will respect the same boundaries though.”

“Can we _please_ go back to the original topic,” Ajay pleads. “Me. Homeless. Do we have a spare safe house?”

“You think we’d send you to a safe house? Those things will be packed in like transport trucks, you don’t want to go in there. People snore, they have fleas, half of them don’t wash, it’s just disgusting. No,” she says, passing the list of dwellings down the line and reaching over to pat his shoulder. “We like you, Ajay, you’re a good friend and a fine shot. Achal, Pranav and I have our own homestead twenty minutes’ walk down the road. You can move in with us.”

"I don't want to impose-"

Banhi laughs. "What are you talking about, we'd love to have you! The place isn't huge, but there's room for us and room for you, and that's what counts. Can you cook?"

"Sure. A little."

"Then you're one up on me already. Achal does most of the cooking, he's got something like a ninety-five percent success rate with perfect roti. I tend to handle the house upkeep; fixing things that break, you know. And Pranav looks after the animals. Assuming we still have animals, it's been a few days since we were home. I asked the neighbours to keep an eye on things but they're not really trustworthy. Amrit has a gambling problem."

"Really? That's terrible, he should - though I guess there's not really much in the way of counselling around here, huh."

"Not when your problem is Shanath Arena," Banhi agrees. "So you should maybe stay well away from him, he lost a few thousand rupees betting against you."

"I'm sorry-"

"Don't be. It serves him right, he should have known better. Bet you that bastard’s stolen my best milk goat.”

“If he has, I’ll go get it back for you,” Ajay promises. “That’s just not right.”

“Careful. I might just take you up on that. If you don’t, Achal has to, and he’s going to be too busy making me all my favourite things.”

The meeting breaks up when it starts getting dark, and Ajay follows Banhi around in saying goodbyes. A little relieved to find she only knows the names of about as many people as he does, and nobody takes offense to her just telling them that. Everyone seems a lot more relaxed now they’re back in Banapur. Like all the problems from outside aren’t as bad as they seemed this morning.

Sabal is busy, deep in conversation with a couple of soldiers. Ajay tries to catch his eye to wave; fails, and turns away with a shrug and a flush of disappointment. It’s fine. They’ll see each other tomorrow. He doesn’t need a _goodnight, Ajay_ before he’ll be able to sleep.

He follows Banhi down the winding road to the lower valley, where her battered old truck is parked among the blue Golden Path vehicles and stolen Royal Army SUVs nobody’s had time to repaint yet. Ajay hops in the passenger seat next to her; the first time he’s done so. He mentions it, and she offers to pull over so he can climb on the roof if he wants. There’s a grenade launcher behind the seat. Best to be prepared in these troubled times, she tells him. For the first time that day, Ajay laughs, and stays in the truck.

Banhi’s homestead is larger than Ghale place up north; better kept, too, the painted walls bright and cheerful, the fences in good repair. Ajay sees goats, a few scrawny pigs, a farm dog that barks hysterically as they approach in the truck. He glances over and finds a smile spreading across Banhi’s face.

“Home?” he asks quietly.

“Best thing in the world,” she agrees. “Come on, the boys have been here all afternoon. Achal’s making goat curry. Promise you’ve never had anything like it, he makes the monastery’s cooks look like amateurs.”

Pranav greets them in the doorway. “So I hear we’re adopting a new stray?” he asks, taking one of Ajay’s packs and slinging it over one shoulder. “Don’t you worry, friend, I’ve made space for you in the chicken shed, you’re going to love it. Warm, soft, lots of chicken feed if you get hungry. The residents might peck at your toes occasionally, but you’ll get used to that pretty fast.” He bends down to kiss Banhi, lingering until she pushes him off.

“Chicken shed?” she asks. “That had better be one of your jokes, yar, or _you’ll_ be the one keeping our hens company. Come on, Ajay, I’ll show you the spare room.”

She leads him into the house; Pranav holds the door open for both of them. It’s warm inside, electric lighting bringing colour to the rugs on the floor, the colourful cushions scattered all over the place. Achal is over at the stove, stirring something. He smiles as they enter.

“How was the meeting? Welcome, Ajay, it’s good to have you here. I heard some nasty rumours about the things going on at Shanath Arena. Glad you’re not there anymore, we were getting worried about you.”

“Banhi wanted to mount a rescue mission,” Pranav agrees. “That smells good. You need a taste tester? I could check for poison, you never know what’s in the water these days- oh fine, suit yourself. But just so you know, if we all drop dead after dinner, it’s going to be your fault for not taking necessary precautions.”

“It’s the northern water that’s poisoned,” Achal tells him. “Yuma never made it this far south. Nobody tampers with _my_ curries, these things are family heirlooms.”

“Hope you like your food spicy, Ajay,” Pranav says. “Because the curry in this household is as hot as the chef. Here we go: spare room, freshly dusted and scorpion-free. The bed might be a little uncomfortable, sorry about that-“

“Are you kidding me, this is incredible.” Ajay drops the pack he’s carrying onto the bed, looking around the small room. Thangka painting on one wall, a tiger in the forest. Sacks of grain over by one wall, a woven rug on the floor. Like being in a safe house, only he doesn’t have to share it. “I’ve camped out in caves a _lot_ recently. And this is definitely better than caves. Thank you.”

“Glad to have you,” Banhi says. “And it’s about time you got to see some real Kyrati hospitality, we’ve been terrible hosts so far. Our home is yours for as long as you want it. So long as you don’t mind the snoring. We all do it.”

“I’m the worst,” Pranav tells him. “It’s sad, but there you go.”

“I’m pretty sure I can deal,” Ajay laughs. He takes one last look at the room, grinning at the crate of beer tucked into a corner. They must really trust him if they’re letting him sleep in the same room as the alcohol. “Anything I can do to help with dinner?”

The goat curry is everything he was promised, and better still with a side of Pranav’s jokes about _currying_ favour with the regent’s right hand man. They throw the title around with an ease that suggests they don’t take it too seriously; maybe because, like him, they don’t understand what it means. But they’re the first people not to have made him feel bad about his ignorance.

“Nobody knows what they’re doing,” Banhi says when he mentions it. “Not the regent, not the priests, though they’ll act like they do.”

“And they’ll say Kyra is guiding them,” Achal snorts. “The hell she is. They’re just the same as the rest of us, only they don’t have to work for their meals. They just take tributes out of the farmers.”

Banhi pours water into metal cups, handing them out as she talks. “It’s like I’ve always said, we need to be educating. These farmers, they don’t know any better. Some of them can’t even _read_ the holy texts. The priests tell them something is true, they can’t check for themselves. Literacy is so important. The sooner we start reopening schools, the better; I might even volunteer as a teacher, if I have time. Someone has to.”

“Banhi, I love you, and I think you’re wonderful, but the truth is you’d make a terrible teacher,” Achal tells her. “Five year olds just aren’t ready to read Sun Tzu. Even with pictures.”

“It’s never too early to start giving them a basic grounding in military tactics and feminism.”

“Serious conversations at dinner always give me indigestion,” Pranav announces. “And seeing as you two are the ones who’ll be dealing with it all night…”

Ajay swallows his mouthful of curry, and finds he can’t _not_ know anymore. “Hey, so, I don’t want to make this weird or anything. But are you guys…” He trails off, and Banhi raises her eyebrows.

“Are we what?” she asks. “Monkeys? Heroin addicts? Illuminati spies? You’re going to have to be a bit more specific, yar, because we’re sure not mind readers.”

“Banhi, honey, he’s being so polite about it. Don’t scare him too bad.” Pranav throws Ajay an exaggerated wink. “You know if we damage him we’ll have to explain it to the regent, and he’ll be so disappointed. Seeing as Ajay’s his favourite and all.”

“I’m not-”

“Sure, we’re together,” Achal tells him. He shakes his head at Banhi and Pranav. “Those two are just baiting you. It’s been the three of us for a couple of years now, not that it felt like that. Started out with friendly smuggling and deliveries, and then before you know it we’re _us_. Funny how that happens.”

“I guess I just didn’t realise it was even an option here,” Ajay says. “Sorry. That came out a little…yeah. Sorry.”

“Oh, it’s not all that simple. My parents don’t approve, for starters,” Banhi says. She doesn’t sound too worried by it. “My sister calls me the family disgrace, but what’s _she_ ever done with herself? Five kids she can’t support, and a husband with a drinking problem. It’s such a shame. I’m always telling them they’d benefit from being a little more open minded, maybe letting in a few new ideas, but do they listen? Never.”

“And my parents were fine with it, while they were still alive,” Achal says. “Now…who knows.” He shrugs.

“My people are just happy I found someone willing to put up with me,” Pranav says cheerily, before the atmosphere can turn too heavy. “ _Two_ someones, even! Every now and then they send us a couple of chickens just to remind us of how grateful they are for the new arrangement. You should have seen their _faces_ the day I moved out, yar, it was a thing of beauty. My mother sobbed for hours, she was so relieved.”

“That’s…a little weird.”

Banhi snorts. “Pranav has some strange family. Though I guess that would explain a lot, now I think about it.”

“This country’s full of strange people,” Pranav tells her. “Don’t act like you haven’t seen worse. Who’s that one that lives in Banapur? The one that does unspeakable things with monkeys, I could have sworn I knew his name-”

“Not in this household, you don’t.” Banhi says, helping herself to more rice. She offers it to Ajay; he thanks her, shaking his head. “Full, huh? Me too. But there’s just something about being home and eating proper food, it just makes everything feel normal again, you know? There goes what’s left of the diet I never actually started. All your fault, Achal.”

“Guilty,” Achal agrees, smiling at her. “So very guilty.”

Ajay looks away for a moment. There’s a twinge in his stomach, something spiked and unpleasant that he smothers as soon as it appears. It’s good that they’re happy. Somehow, against all odds, they’re making it work. It’s not their fault he can’t manage the same thing.

“I thought we agreed we weren’t going to make it awkward for Ajay until at least his third night,” Pranav announces. Ajay looks up, startled, and gets a cheeky grin in return. “You alright there, friend? We’re dreadful people to live with. No shame whatsoever. Well, I don’t have any shame. Achal at least puts pants on before wandering around the garden. And Banhi-”

“-thinks Ajay could probably use a warning about some of the stranger folks living in the area, since he’s planning on staying.” Banhi fixes Pranav with an exaggerated glare, gesturing with her spoon.

“Oh, sure. Ajay, stay away from the monkey man. He might be infectious.”

“Uh,” Ajay says, thinking back to a different monkey man. He still has that harpoon stashed away in the homestead up north. And that’s where it’s staying; Sabal might take one look and decide it would be better put to use in the Arena for entertainment purposes. “Okay, I’ll avoid this monkey man. Anyone else?”

“The shopkeeper,” Achal tells him. “She’ll try to trap you into talking to her. Just don’t engage, for your own sake. You catch her interest, next thing you know she’s written you into a pornographic novel featuring unrealistic uses for rope and a lot of questionable lube. Trust me on this. I know a guy.”

“What, what-“

“Sharma Salsa,” Banhi says. She reaches for the remaining curry on Pranav’s plate; he pushes it towards her obligingly. “I hear she was bribing Amita with a cut of her profits to keep from being booted out of Banapur. Not actually sure Sabal has any idea who she is. Which…says things. Just so you know. Kind of seems like you should, considering…yeah.”

Ajay sits back, resting a hand on his stomach. Last time he ate this well was back at Chal Jama Monastery, and it wasn’t like _this_. That was friendly. And this is too, but it’s also more. Feels a little like family. He’s an outsider here, and to an extent he’s always going to be- but these people couldn’t care less. They want him around.

“I’ve met Sharma,” he says sleepily. “Lady with the video camera? Yeah. I did some stuff for her-“

“Fuck _me_ ,” Pranav says, staring at him. “Or her, as the case may be. I mean, my mother always did say not to judge by appearances, but you just don’t strike me as the type, you know? Is our regent aware? Because if not…”

“What does that have to do with-“

“Sharma does action movies now, Pranav,” Banhi says. She transfers the remains of Pranav’s curry to her plate and digs in, talking through mouthfuls of goat. “You remember, she tried to recruit us for a documentary? Something about smuggling in the Golden Path. I told her no, she wasn’t offering enough for the risks she wanted us to take.”

“Yeah, she got me to do a whole lot of stunts for her,” Ajay says. “I don’t know if she made much off it, I never really saw any money.”

“Sharma Salsa is a vital figure of Banapur high society,” Pranav tells him. “Also a valuable source of income. Apparently she does action movies now, which is cool, but before _that_ she pretty busy making several, uh, im- _porn_ -tant contributions to Kyrat’s GDP. The Golden Path is very grateful for her assistance.”

“Oh my _god,_ ” Ajay says. Around the table, Banhi, Achal and Pranav dissolve into simultaneous fits of laugher. “Oh god, _no._ I swear, all I did was some driving around, holy shit. Nobody ever told me!”

They turn in early, dishes left to soak and be sorted out in the morning. Ajay wishes his friends a good night, and wonders how it is that he never noticed the place only has one proper bedroom aside from the spare. He must be more tired than he realises. There’s a lot that he’s missed over the last few weeks, looks like.

He’s just settling in for the night when his new phone vibrates by the bed. Ajay picks it up and stares at the caller ID for a few seconds.

“Hey.”

“You vanished on me again, brother. You really need to stop doing that.”

“Sorry,” Ajay says. “I didn’t have anywhere to stay for the night and Banhi offered me her spare bed. I left with her. Why? Did something happen?”

Sabal sighs. “You could have just said. I have more than enough room, I’d have welcomed your company.”

“It’s fine. This isn’t something you should have to stress over.”

“And you’re worried we’ll start arguing again,” Sabal observes. “We’re doing a lot of that recently. I don’t know where it’s coming from, and that’s a concern; we were fine before Pagan fell. What happened to us?”

“I don’t know.” It’s a lie. But if Sabal can’t spot where the problems started, then Ajay isn’t about to tell him. “Maybe we just…need a break. Everyone’s really tense right now.”

“I thought the meeting went well enough.”

“Yeah, but. What do you call that thing with Rabi earlier?” Ajay asks. “I haven’t seen him since, I don’t know if he okay. You were pretty harsh with him. All that stuff about how he’s disappointing his family, how he’s a coward. Yeah, it’s a little true, but you didn’t have to _say_ it to him. He’s not exactly a threat.”

He sits down on the edge of the bed. It might be just the static, but he thinks he can hear Sabal’s breathing on the other end of the line.

“He sided with Amita,” Sabal says, and Ajay rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, because he’s a dumbass who votes with his dick.” He claps a hand over his mouth, momentarily horrified at himself. From the phone comes the soft sound of Sabal’s laughter. “Sorry, that was- that wasn’t really professional of me. Uh. I’m just saying that siding with Amita doesn’t make him a traitor, and it doesn’t mean he deserves what you said to him.”

“I was pretty restrained, compared to the things he’s been saying about me for years. You missed the highlights, Ajay, but he-“

“I know,” Ajay tells him. “I can imagine. But you’re supposed to be the better person here. You won.”

“He _jumped_ you. In the middle of the road, without warning, without giving you a chance to back off, he- maybe I overreacted a bit, but there was fair provocation from his side of things. He had no right to do that.”

Ajay stares down at the floorboards between his feet. Worn with age, the cracks caked with dust and the odd rice husk. Must have been used as a storage room, before. “ _Better person_ ,” he says. “You know we’re going to need him, right? Half the country listens to his station there days, just because there’s nothing else. What do we do if he decides to hard out campaign against you?”

“We silence him,” Sabal says grimly. “Family name or no. Traitors will all be treated the same; it’s the will of Kyra.”

“You’re a really cheerful person to talk to at bed time, thank you.”

“I just wanted to tell you good night,” Sabal snaps. Through the shaky call quality he sounds almost sulky. “I wish you’d stuck around a bit longer; you’d be a lot better situated in Banapur, where I can find you easily. I’m serious about having the space.”

 _We can’t even handle a phone call, and you want me to move in with you?_ Ajay shakes his head, bemused. He can’t deny the idea has some appeal. Maybe a little intimacy _would_ solve their issues; maybe they’d be less inclined to fight over serious stuff if they worked off the tension fighting for the same shower early in the morning. If they were running into each other half naked at night. Maybe they’d have more time to…talk things through.

But he’s not stupid, and he knows himself. He’d be in Sabal’s bed by the end of the week. Agreeing to anything Sabal wants, because he hates fighting and he hates stony silences in the bedroom. He’d just give up. And he can’t do that: Kyrat deserves better.

“Thanks,” Ajay says. “I mean it, I’ll keep that in mind. For now I’m pretty happy here.”

“Suit yourself. We have a meeting at seven tomorrow, if you can make it in time. And then another in the evening; that one’s important. We’ll be discussing finances and the allocation of funding for projects.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I look forward to it, brother.”

“Thanks for calling,” Ajay says. “Seriously. I just…I don’t know, even if we’re not doing so good, I appreciate it. Thank you.”

Sabal’s voice softens. “Get some rest. We’ll sort these problems out soon enough, you’ll see. And in the meantime I’ll seek Kyra’s guidance for keeping things stable between us.”

“Sure. Goodnight.” Ajay cuts the call, tossing his phone aside on the bed covers. All of a sudden, he doesn’t feel tired. Certainly doesn’t feel like lying awake for a few hours staring up at the ceiling. Listening to the muffled voices of his friends in the next room.

From his door comes a soft tap.

“Ajay, you awake? Looks like you have the light on, so you probably are, but Banhi has this thing about knocking first.”

“Come on in,” Ajay says. Pranav opens the door. He steps into the room and closes it carefully behind him, one finger on his lips.

“So,” he says, unusually quiet. “Here’s the thing. I didn’t tell Banhi and Achal, because I didn’t want to worry them or anything, but….we’re missing some chickens.”

Ajay sits up a little. “Like, a lot of chickens? You sure they didn’t just wander off?”

“Let me rephrase that. We’re missing _all_ our laying hens. The shed is almost empty, all we’ve got left are the ones I was saving to slaughter for special occasions. Three guesses where the rest went.”

“Your neighbour?” Ajay offers.

“We have a winner! Not that I have any proof, or I’d go threaten to shove Achal’s rolling pin right up his-“

“Okay,” Ajay says hurriedly. “I get the picture. You think he still has them? Maybe he sold them all?”

Pranav shakes his head. “Not the laying hens. He’d get more cash for their eggs, and he knows that. So they’re probably somewhere on his farm, and you bet if we go confront him he’ll just deny everything. It’s not like the chickens have labels. _I_ know which ones are mine, but that doesn’t prove much. Although…” He hesitates, a wicked smile forming on his face. “That works both ways. If, say, a couple of intrepid adventurers were to raid his chicken pens in the night and make off with their rightful property?”

“Let me get this straight,” Ajay says. “You want us to go over to your neighbour’s farm, in the dark, and steal his chickens. Sorry, _your_ chickens.”

“Hey, look on the bright side! He left us our roosters, so it’s not a _total_ cock up. Get it? Because another name for rooster is-”

“The only thing I’m _getting_ here is that we’re going to get ourselves shot for trespassing.”

“That’s a definite possibility,” Pranav agrees cheerfully. “But it has to be better than telling Banhi that she can’t have her eggs tomorrow, right? She’s hooked on scrambled eggs. We had this American restaurant by the airport a while back, she was always looking for excuses to go. Achal traded them a goat haunch for some of their recipes. The eggs are important to the continued stability of my relationship, Ajay.”

Ajay drops his head into his hands. “No, this- This is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Everyone in this country has guns! How is he not going to notice us stealing a load of chickens off his farmland in the middle of the night? How would we even carry them all? Look, I’m sorry, but this entire plan is just insane.”

“Oh, come on. It might be fun! Where’s your sense of adventure?”

He rises early the next morning, dazed by the dawn light that filters through the inadequate shutters. The alarm on his new phone isn’t due to go off for another ten minutes, but at this stage there’s no point going back to sleep, as much as he wants to. _Be gentle with me, I didn’t get much sleep last night_ is kind of becoming his default state anyway. It might even explain some of Sabal’s anger issues.

The walk to Banapur is a quiet one, down what is probably the safest road in Kyrat. They won this territory off the Royal Guard months ago; nobody’s stupid enough to challenge Golden Path dominion. Between the “liberated” weapons and armed vehicles, the supplies they’ve been bringing back from outposts and the regular patrols, the only trouble anyone really has to worry about is attack by rabid dhole. And those get shot on sight.

It’s strange to feel safe out in the open. Ajay has to wonder how long it’ll be before they can extend that out of the valley. Until _anyone_ can walk down any road in Kyrat and know the Golden Path will watch their backs.

Banapur is just starting to wake when he arrives. The fruit seller is setting up his stall, arguing with the tobacconist across the street. A woman is lighting candles at the street side Kyra shrine. Pretty soon the farmers will be arriving with milk, eggs, crops to sell in the marketplace. But for the moment the streets are almost empty.

He stops at Sabal’s place first; an average-sized house, balcony on the second floor, same as his neighbours. A big place for a guy who lives alone, but Sabal always has people coming and going, soldiers crashing on his floor and weapons shipments sitting around in his living room before they can be transferred. Sometimes he holds meetings there, and people perch on crates and old wooden chairs and the floor to debate mission strategy and viable targets for assault. Or they used to, anyway.

“Come in,” someone calls when Ajay knocks.

He finds Sabal sitting at the worn wood table with a soldier in Golden Path uniform. It takes Ajay a moment to recognise him as chatty Manjeet from the campfire at the monastery; without the smile, he looks like a different person. He looks up and nods to Ajay. Sabal murmurs a greeting. They both go back to the file on the table in front of them.

“This is it, as best as we can tell,” Manjeet says. “Accurate as of this morning. We’re getting more reported every day, it’s difficult to keep track.”

“So many,” Sabal says quietly.

“Just southerners. It’ll be a while before we can get names out of the north, and when we do it might be a better idea to send someone those people know. Ranjit Rana volunteered; he’d be a good choice. He’s well liked in that area. People have heard what happened to his family, they’ll know he understands what they’re suffering.”

“This is going to take weeks to get through,” Sabal says. He nudges a chair out with one foot, and Ajay sits down next to him. Peers over his shoulder at a list of names and addresses.

“You could delegate,” Manjeet suggests. “You’re regent now, nobody expects you to do this-”

“ _No._ These men and women were soldiers for the cause. They deserve to be remembered as heroes, and their families deserve to be told they died bravely. I owe them that much, at least.”

“You’re a stubborn bastard,” Manjeet tells him. “I guess some things never change. Hello, Ajay. You’re here early, the meeting’s not for another half hour.”

“Yeah, I woke up early. What is this?”

“List of the dead,” Sabal says expressionlessly. He hands it over and turns away, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I’ve never seen one that size. There were casualties, of course, and we came under heavy fire taking Pagan’s fortress and stopping the shelling at Utkarsh. I just didn’t think it would be so many.”

Ajay flips through pages of names, neatly lined up in columns next to the details on their next of kin. It’s…a lot. Way more than he’s ready to deal with at this time of day, if ever. But someone has to.

“That’s terrible,” he says. “Who has to- you?”

“Only for the soldiers,” Sabal tells him. “The others I leave to my officers, but the soldiers… They should have this. The least I can do is go express my condolences and let the families know their loved ones will be in my prayers.”

“He doesn’t _have_ to,” Manjeet says. “I can’t even begin to tell you the number of times a grieving spouse punched him for his trouble. It’s a _lot._ He’ll probably spend the next few weeks with a black eye or two, which is a great look for the country’s new regent. It’s going to be a full time duty coming up with excuses for him.”

Ajay passes the folder back to Sabal, who closes it and lays it on the table in front of him. “Grief makes people irrational,” he says simply. “They lash out. I don’t blame them for it.”

“How long have you been doing this for?”

Sabal shrugs. “Years now. Ever since I took on a leadership role. It’s the right thing to do, even if it does inconvenience my official spokespeople.” He throws Manjeet a cool look and gets an exasperated smile in return.

“Stubborn bastard,” Manjeet confirms. “But that’s why we follow him.”

“Yeah,” Ajay agrees. “It is.” Sabal looks up, startled by the tone. As if he’s actually surprised to find Ajay supports this.

 _I didn’t know,_ Ajay thinks. _It’s stupid and risky, but of course you’d do it. All your soldiers are your responsibility. It kills you to lose anyone. Goddammit._ He doesn’t want to know what his expression is just now; whatever it is, Sabal isn’t looking away. He’s softer here, less stone and more clay, and for a moment Ajay wonders what would happen if he reached out. He wants to; he has a sudden, almost painful need to touch this person he hasn’t seen in months.

This is _Sabal._ _This_ is the man who saved his life again and again, gave him freedom and responsibility, gave him something to fight for when he needed to focus on anything that wasn’t his reason for being here. This is the man who stayed by his bedside for days until he woke up, and prayed _constantly_ that he’d be okay. It’s him. And for a moment, it’s like nothing changed.

Ajay breathes in deep and makes himself break eye contact. “I just think it’s good that you do this,” he mutters, running an agitated hand through his hair. “If you wanted company- I don’t know, maybe you don’t, but if you do I’d go with you. Just let me know.”

“Oh gods, don’t encourage him,” Manjeet says. Ajay starts; he’d almost forgotten the other man was still around. “As if he needs his ego boosted. Do you know how many embarrassing childhood stories it’s going to take to settle him back down again? No, you don’t.”

Grateful for something to lighten the mood, Ajay rises to his bait. “But you could totally tell me,” he says. “I want to know if they’re worse than mine.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Sabal says. “Hold still for a moment?”

“What?” Ajay does as he’s told, raising his eyebrows when Sabal reaches over and _strokes the side of his neck,_ and then pulls back holding- “Oh. Where was that?”

“Tucked into your collar.” Sabal hands him the small, fluffy chicken feather. “You’re more than welcome to lend a hand with farm work if you want to repay your hosts. Just don’t overtire yourself, hm? We have more important things to do. And speaking of which,” he turns away, picking up the folder of names. “Thanks, Manjeet. I’ll start on these this afternoon; I see some of the families are living in the valley.”

Manjeet nods, standing slowly. He stretches, making a show of wincing as his back creaks. “ _Oof._ Must be getting old. I think you’ll find about half of them are within a day’s walk of Banapur. Relocated to take advantage of the benefits. Golden Path members get benefits for their families,” he tells Ajay. “Protection, if they want to relocate to our territory. Extra rations, when we have them. Assistance with building new homes, if we have people to spare. It’s not a bad deal.”

“And they pay for it in blood,” Sabal mutters. “Gods. I didn’t realise it was so many. What a day this is going to be.” His brief good mood is gone, vanished behind the twin clouds of stress and worryingly apparent exhaustion. He tucks the folder under his arm and stands. “It’s time to go. We need to put together teams to gather data for the census, and come up with a schedule for the poppy burning. I want all those fields cleansed and replanted as soon as possible. And we’re meeting again this evening to talk finances, I’m hoping Karishma will call from the palace. By now she should have word on our financial situation. I told her we’d be discussing it.” He stalks to the door, shoulders straight, leaving Ajay and Manjeet to follow.

The day is a long one; slow, too much time spent indoors for Ajay’s liking. Too much _talking_. He misses being able to just go out there and do things, liberate bell towers and hunt for hungry villagers, rescue the odd hostage. It was a vast improvement on this: watching other people get assigned to do the actual work and wondering why he’s not out with them. He knows jack shit about running a census, but he can burn poppy fields down with the best of them. This new, semi-formal role he’s been assigned to feels like it should have gone to someone who actually knows the country they’re supposed to be serving. Or at least has the guts to tell Sabal when the plans he’s proposing are crazy at best, and unethical at worst.

Evening comes around after what feels like _weeks,_ and Ajay trudges to yet another meeting, this one held in the already-crowded community pucca. By the time it starts, the place is filled almost to bursting; Golden Path, priests who must have made their way down from the monastery, people Ajay vaguely recognises as Banapur’s elders. He has to wonder how much of a say they’ll get here. If Sabal actually wants their opinions, or if he just invited them because tradition says he should.

Achal is in evidence, packed into a corner in a sea of blue uniforms. He waves to Ajay; they’re too far apart for conversation. Omkari is over by the window, Jaya in her arms. Manjeet somehow managed to score himself one of the few chairs available, though it’s getting him glares from some of the older folks in attendance.

Sabal himself stands in the middle of the room, poring over sheaves of documents spread across the tables that have been pushed together to provide a focal point for discussion. He alone has breathing room, a bubble of empty space around him on all sides. Ajay tries to push through the crowds to join the new regent, and finds himself pushed back. Deflected. It’s like nobody dares to stand too close to their leader- but they don’t want to see anyone else do it either.

A bell is rung; the meeting begins.

“Brothers, sisters,” Sabal says, and the room goes quiet when he speaks. “Thank you for coming here today.”

The rest is the usual summary of why they’re all gathered, what Sabal hopes to achieve from this meeting. He calls on people with documents to colour in the blanks, and accepts suggestions from anyone who wants to talk.

Ajay tunes most of it out. It’s ridiculous, hearing out all these ideas for things they could do with money they don’t know they have. Building projects, roads, a police force, _pensions_. What about the starving villagers? Doctor shortages? The fact that kids are going to school in whatever room in someone’s house isn’t currently being used to store grenades? And that’s just assuming Pagan left them anything to work with. The suggestions get wilder, and Ajay doesn’t contribute.

Instead, he watches Sabal. The tension in his shoulders that hasn’t really left since Ajay saw him in the morning; he crossed a few names off the _condolences_ folder during a quiet hour in the afternoon, and came back from doing it with a wooden expression and eyes like shattered glass. He’s not smiling, because he never smiles in meetings. But he’s also not as comfortable as he normally is, secure in knowing he dominates the room just by standing in it.

In between questions and demands, when attention shifts away, Sabal looks hunted. And try as he might, Ajay can’t manage to push through the crowd and go stand by his side.

The sun is setting when Karishma calls, the crowd going still as Manjeet pulls his phone out and waves the caller ID in Sabal’s direction. Not many people qualify to have the regent’s personal number, apparently.

“I’m putting her on speaker,” Manjeet announces, placing the phone on the table in front of him. “Hello, royal palace squad? How are you coming along with those pots of money, your new government has a budget to make! What are we looking at?”

“We have a problem.” The woman at the other end is cool, clipped, a sharp contrast to Manjeet’s humour. “Is the regent around?”

“I’m here, Karishma,” Sabal tells her.

“Good,” she says. “What’s the current status of the poppy fields? Did you wait to burn them like I suggested?”

“We did, and I’m through with waiting. What’s the issue here, exactly?”

“We’re bankrupt without them.”

Her words are met with silence.

 _Wow_ , Ajay thinks. _That’s…blunt. Wow. Holy shit._ He looks around; at the people suddenly staring in any direction but the radio, and their regent; at the people who aren’t looking anywhere else. Shuffling feet, a cough in the background. Over by the window, a baby grizzles and is hushed. And nobody says anything.

“Hello?” says the woman on the radio, who with four words has just changed the future. “Is anyone there? I have a report to deliver, and we’re short on time.”

“Still here,” Manjeet tells her after a few seconds. He glances over at Sabal, who hasn’t moved since the announcement came through. “Uh…How do you mean, short on time? You need more backup?”

“Negative, the palace is secure. I’m referring to the state of the agricultural sector and our prospects for surviving next winter, which aren’t looking too good. We’re starving. The warnings have been there for years, but from what I can tell, Pagan’s only response to the crisis was to order more farms converted to poppy production. De Pleur killed farmers indiscriminately, Royal Army troops burnt homesteads for entertainment purposes. We have no food. Pagan was feeding most of his troops on freeze-dried military rations; I contacted Shanath Arena, and the guards there confirm that most of the soldiers coming in for trial are malnourished, no doubt suffering from all kinds of deficiencies. Medical supplies are practically non-existent; if we suffer a TB outbreak, we’re not going to survive it. We could make a diplomatic appeal to the Indian government, maybe the UN, but from what I can tell they’ve spent years associating the Golden Path with anti-capitalist terrorist activity.”

Sabal stirs, finally. “We have proof,” he says; he sounds hoarse, his voice rasping in a way that hurts to hear. “Video footage from the Arena, the City of Pain, of the _hunts_ Pagan organised up north. Kyra, all we’d need to do is show them Durgesh.”

“It’ll be months before any action is taken, regent” Karishma says. “By which stage we stand to lose a significant percentage of the population. I don’t have all the facts in front of me right now, but if you wanted an estimate-“

“I don’t.”

“Of course. The problem is, even if our appeals are accepted, emergency food parcels will arrive too late for many people. We can still save them if we act fast; not all, but most. We need to start buying in supplies from across the border. We might just have the funds to do that for a month or two, assuming we don’t use the money for anything else. No large scale civic projects. And when that runs out, we have nothing.”

 _Just the poppies,_ Ajay thinks. Rage bubbles slow under his ribcage; he lets it simmer. _Amita would have so much to say right now. And you know, she’d be totally justified. People are starving. But hey, at least we’re not morally bankrupt?_

It’s unfair of him; he doesn’t give a damn.

“So that’s it?” he says, when nobody else does. Heads turn, startled expressions; they’d forgotten he was even in the room. Forgotten he should be getting some kind of say in this. He’s supposed to be second in command here. “We’re going back to heroin production?”

“I don’t know who that is,” Karishma says. “But I’m glad _someone_ is doing the math here apart from me. We stand to lose thousands. More, if the winter is harsh and disease breaks out at any stage. We need food. Maybe you have other things in mind too, fixing up some of those damaged towns and improving the roads. It’s never too soon to think about cosmetic improvements; tourism could be a good source of income for us. Open the borders, invite in the curious. Just a thought.”

“We do still have the chemists in custody,” Manjeet says reluctantly. He looks to Sabal for guidance and gets nothing. “A lot of the equipment is still intact in the brick factory; those charges that were set, they focused on destroying the product, not the equipment.”

“That’s what I was told to target,” Ajay tells him. “And seeing as I was the only one in there-”

“-There are a couple of problems we need to take a look at, like harvesting and transport, and then distribution, but there must be _someone_ around here who knows.” Manjeet cracks a sudden smile. “Looks like Rabi Ray Rana will be getting his parties after all. Who wants to go tell him?” That earns him a few chuckles, brief and nervous, fading out almost as soon as they start. But it’s the catalyst that spurs voices back to life. More arguments, uninformed opinions, confusion.

Blame. Nobody says it outright, but the bite of resentment lingers on the edge of every, _guess this means my auntie won’t be getting electricity in her house anytime soon_ and _I was looking forward to restoring the tea factory to its proper use_ and _so much for the gods guiding us to victory._ Karishma is trying to talk, but whatever she’s saying is drowned under the surge, and the regent says nothing.

Ajay pushes at the crowd, trying to force his way over to Sabal’s side. He’s not sure what he’ll do once he gets there. He wonders, briefly, if anyone would object to him throwing a punch or two. If people would cheer.

“Sabal,” Manjeet says as Ajay fights through people. “Look, it’s a real shame, yar, I feel it too. Not to mention awkward. But we don’t exactly have any alternatives-”

“Excuse me a moment,” Sabal says quietly, and leaves the room.

Heads turn to watch him go; for a moment the conversation falters. The crowd parts in front of him on either side, most people turning away to avoid his gaze. He’s gone in seconds. Then someone raises the issue of needing to track down Pagan’s buyers somehow, and the meeting surges back to life. Seethes like boiling water; the air is a heavy, resentful crush. Nobody can quite believe they’re here, discussing this. Nobody wants to show too much support. This was, after all, _Amita’s solution_. Her idea, and Kyrat’s impending bankruptcy her prediction. She was right. And the new government is going to have a lot of explaining to do to its people.

Ajay ducks out of the meeting unnoticed. He’s tired of the arguments. Sickened, like a great many other people will be when they find that Amita had it right all along. Hard to play the righteous card when it turns out the rival you think you had murdered was the only one with a solid idea for keeping the country running.

The mood he’s in, he knows he’s out looking for a fight. Fuck, he is so sick of being manipulated. Lied to by omission.

 _You said you had a plan,_ he thinks coldly. _You made it sound like Amita was trying to turn Kyrat into a drug empire voluntarily. Like that was what she wanted for her country. Like you had a better idea. Liar._

He finds Sabal outside, leaning on a fence overlooking Banapur’s fields. Empty; farmers fading with the dying sunlight, stowing their tools and retiring to their homes and their families. Safe in the knowledge that Pagan is gone, and the Golden Path will protect them while they sleep.

“So,” Ajay says, stopping short of joining Sabal at the fence. “That was unexpected. I mean, we all knew Pagan had lots of other export options, he just stuck to heroin because he thought it was more fun that way. Kyrat’s full of natural resources. _Right?_ ”

Sabal doesn’t turn to look at him. “He taxed the farmers for years. There were…food stockpiles in the north, enough to feed the country for a good few years. At least until we could replant the fields. And I had reports of gold in the mines, strains the KEO company missed.”

“Yeah? So what happened to all that?”

“Yuma’s soldiers set the warehouses on fire a month and a half ago.” Sabal’s hands are tight on the fence. His head is bowed, the dying sunset giving his skin a golden undertone. “When they knew they couldn’t hold us back for much longer. They did it out of spite. Our future, gone up in smoke. The scouts called me earlier this evening.”

“Shit,” Ajay says eloquently.

“The undiscovered gold was a false alarm. Though it may be in there, somewhere; if Kyra is merciful, we’ll find enough in the way of scraps to buy in food for the winter.”

“Yeah, only you can’t pay miners _and_ guards to keep an eye on them, which you’ll need if the north stays unstable like it is now. Where are you going to get the workers? The ones Yuma was using won’t go back, they’re way too traumatised.”

Sabal turns his head enough to give Ajay a humourless half-smile. “Where do you think, brother? From the Arena. I’ll issue pardons to some of the Royal Army foot soldiers, offer them their lives in exchange for their work in our goldmines.”

“You’re talking about slavery,” Ajay says.

“Mhm. Glorious, isn’t it? I’m going to run this country on heroin and slave labour. This is _truly_ the future I spent most of my life fighting for, watching soldiers and friends _die for-_ ” He stops when his voice breaks, turning his face away.

Ajay just watches him. Doesn’t know what else to do; he came out here expecting an argument, a chance to toss Sabal’s orders back in his face. A chance to remind him of his lies.

Do they count as lies if he believed them? If he really, truly thought he could save the country without making use of the poppy fields? It seems a little naïve. But maybe that was all he had: hope, and a firm belief that Kyra wouldn’t screw him over that badly, after everything. Not once he’d won her country back.

“Where’d it come from, anyway?” Ajay asks. “The whole anti-drugs thing. Not that I’m disagreeing, I know what heroin does to people. It just seems a little random. Religion good, drugs bad, I can see how it works, but didn’t you have other stuff to campaign against? Why this?”

Even now, he can’t keep himself from noticing how broad Sabal’s shoulders are, outlined in the last of the sunlight. The shape of his profile, when he turns his head. He’s beautiful. Ajay’s known that since day one. But he’s dangerous too, clawed and sharp of tooth where it’s least expected. He knows to strike for the softest parts of a person. Maim when he doesn’t feel like killing. This is not a good man.

It takes an almost physical effort for Ajay to keep his feet planted where they are, well out of reach. Even when Sabal starts talking again.

“You have to understand,” he says. “I…wasted my childhood, I guess you could say. Then strayed in my twenties, looking for answers to questions I didn’t have words for. Looking for a purpose. After I found Kyra and started rebuilding the Golden Path, I knew I had to make sure our future didn’t look like my past. We all needed faith, the strength we could find in our traditions, our history. We could save ourselves; we already had the tools. We could be free.”

“And the heroin?”

“Is killing our future,” Sabal says. He stares down at his hands; Ajay can’t make out his expression. “You’ll have noticed how few children there are around. Those that weren’t blown up by landmines or taken by Noore’s scouts for sale elsewhere are…different. We have no proper schools left. No work to offer outside of warfare. Their parents teach what they can, and the priests do the same, but it’s not enough. Too many start drifting in their teens; they don’t believe Kyrat has anything to offer them but poverty or a life in the Royal Army. And the poppies are there, everywhere they look. Heroin is cheap at Shanath Arena, in the brothels and at social gatherings. The addiction rates are catastrophic. We are losing our youth to those poppy fields, Ajay. They start using, and stop caring about anything more than their next hit. They’re lost to us.”

Finally, Ajay moves to stand next to him. The light has faded enough that he has to squint to make out Sabal’s features in the shadows. “You figured you could burn down the fields, clean up the addicts and make them all find Kyra? You don’t think that’s a little…I don’t know. Unrealistic?”

“Someone had to,” Sabal tells him with sudden fierceness. “Amita didn’t give a _fuck_. There she was, talking about _necessary sacrifices_ , about how there’d be a new generation to replace the ones we left behind. A new generation! From where? She opposed marriages that didn’t please her, opposed the idea of returning to traditional roles, of soldiers putting their weapons aside and returning to households- but she expected that a new generation would one day just arrive, full of promise and untainted by the past. How? _How?_ Were they supposed to just ignore the drug empire she wanted them to grow up in?”

His hands clench into fists, shaking like his voice. Ajay watches him hurt. Hurts with him; the urge to fight is gone, like it never existed. Every nerve in his body is aching to reach out and do something. He’s never coped well with watching other people suffer.

“It’s temporary,” he says softly. “We’re still going to fix everything. This is just for a few years, and then we can burn all the fields like you wanted. It’s going to take a bit of time, but that’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“No, Ajay,” Sabal says. “It’s not. The addicts, the children of our people and Kyra, the future of this country- I was supposed to _save them._ ”

He crumbles then, his head bowed, lifting a hand to cover his face. Under his battered jacket, his shoulder shake.

On the horizon, the last of the sunlight slips from view behind the mountains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. You know a fic is getting good when the author starts [naming chapter titles after FOB songs.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5hDZbroaQDc)  
> 2\. The headcanon that Sabal visits the families of dead soldiers is based off [this random in-game audio.](http://soundsofkyrat.tumblr.com/post/121268264201/my-wife-will-kill-him-with-her-bare-hands)  
> 3\. [Rabi's Uncle Rana is canon](http://soundsofkyrat.tumblr.com/post/114542496581/ultimately-what-we-do-here-is-share-news-from-the) and can be found, briefly, in Utkarsh. Thanks, Eric. You dick.


	6. I'll Be the Earth

“What’s up, you guys, this is Rabi Ray Rana, still going strong despite the new _regent’s_ best efforts to get me off air. Hey, asshole. Are you listening to me? You’d fucking better be, because I am a proud member of the Rana family, and I’m not about to let you intimidate me. Pagan couldn’t make me stop; neither can you. And you know, I’m gonna pledge right now, I am making a solemn _promise_ to my listeners, here we go. You guys, I promise you that I am not gonna let any of these changes we’re seeing affect my station. The…the quality of the broadcasts you’ve come to expect from me, and the honesty in what I say, in my opinions, that won’t change. I am still going to be Rabi Ray Rana, bringing you the truth your government doesn’t want you to hear. Yeah. How about that, regent? You like that? And there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop me, because you I’m moving back to my undisclosed location that you don’t know about. I mean, I guess you could ask Kyra, maybe if you pray for a while she might tell you, and I know you’re into that spiritual bullshit- but you know, you could also just throw yourself into the nearest demon fish pond and save us all a lot of problems. Team Amita for the win!”

“It’s like he has a death wish,” Achal says, shaking his head. “Turn it off, Pranav, I don’t need to hear that crazy kid digging his own grave on national radio.”

“He’s just venting, there’s no harm in it. Half his radio station consists of complaining. And anyway, he’s been around far too long for Sabal to have him sent to the Arena, yar, people wouldn’t stand for it. We can’t have Kyrat without Rabi Ray Rana.”

Achal passes Ajay a steaming roti and turns back to the stove. “I think you’d be surprised. Sabal’s not the forgiving kind. No sense of humour.”

“Amita didn’t have one either,” Ajay feels obliged to say. Three pairs of eyes turn his way; knowing looks, sympathetic. He stares fixedly down at the plate in front of him. “Sabal won’t hurt Rabi,” he mumbles. “He knows we’re friends, he wouldn’t hurt someone I like. Just Royal Army soldiers.”

“And civilian informants,” Banhi points out through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “And suppliers, merchants, mechanics, anyone who looked a little too happy to be helping Pagan out. I hear hundreds of people have passed through the Arena in these last few weeks, and we haven’t even really cracked the north yet. I’m not saying Amita wouldn’t have done the same; she probably would have. Maybe worse, we don’t know. But that Rana kid is prodding a leopard with a stick. He thinks he’s safe ‘cause he’s got tougher friends there with him, but the leopard knows where that stick comes from, and it can be very patient if it needs to. It can wait. Those tough friends have to sleep sometime, you know?”

“You saying I should just not sleep?”

“You don’t sleep anyway,” Banhi tells him. “Don’t think I haven’t heard you getting up every night these past two weeks. You okay? Is it the bed, because I know it’s not that comfortable-“

“It’s fine,” Ajay says. “Seriously. I didn’t know I was waking you up, I’m sorry.”

“You’re not the only one who doesn’t sleep so well.” Achal comes to join them at the table. “We wake up at the little things, you know? Like the front door opening and closing. Not your fault, it’s just one of those things.”

“I slept right through it,” Pranav says.

“We’ve established that you’re basically the worst soldier ever,” Achal tells him affectionately. “That’s why you need two of us to make sure you don’t get murdered in your sleep by all the people you piss off.”

“Three, sort of,” Ajay says. “I don’t really go…anywhere. I don’t know. Just nightmares mostly, or I can’t sleep. I take a gun and go scout the perimeter until I feel better. Is that weird? I can stop.”

“Welcome to the wonderful world of PTSD,” Pranav says. “Which, as we all know, stands for Pagan Trashed our Shit, Dammit.”

“But there’s no _o_ in-”

“Shh, you’re ruining it.”

“Pagan, That Sadistic Dictator,” Achal offers. “Heavy emphasis on the _dick._ ”

“Pagan Takes Seventy Dicks, at the same time,” Banhi says. “Probably.”

“Now _that’s_ an achievement to brag about. I bet he made himself a solid gold trophy for it. Oh, wait, maybe that’s what the giant statue was about.”

“And just like that, I’m not hungry anymore,” Ajay says wryly, pushing his chair back. “You guys coming to the Khilana Bazaar Outpost today? Apparently we’re surveying…something. I might have zoned out a bit.”

“This is why I send Banhi to those meetings,” Pranav says. Banhi rolls her eyes.

“It’s probably safer you stay out of them anyway, yar, you’d just get us all fired. Sure, Ajay, we’re coming along. Got to scope out the area, work out what needs to be done to convert it back into the marketplace it used to be. It’s actually exciting stuff; people came from all over the place to trade, before Pagan made it unsafe. I miss the fabric merchants. Hope some of them are still alive.”

“Doubt it,” Achal says. “Sorry. Just don’t get your hopes up too much. We’ve buried a lot of people, it’s a wonder there’s still anyone around.”

Ajay slides his dishes into the container for washing later, and ducks outside. He’s welcome in this household; he knows this, and he knows if that changes he’ll be told straight out. But he’s also aware that there are some conversations he doesn’t have a place in. Sometimes, the kindest thing he can do is leave the room.

He’s met Achal a few times, during his late night wanders. Gun in hand, sitting on a fence at the edge of the homestead’s property. Twitchy some nights; tired, others. They nod to each other. Sometimes they walk together for a while, and the silence feels companionable enough. It’s never come up in conversation. It doesn’t have to. So long as Achal is dealing, or close to it, Ajay isn’t getting himself involved.

Temporarily exiled to the homestead’s grounds, he entertains himself with a walk through the gardens and animal pens. Pranav’s chickens are quiet, recovered from their recent ordeal. The scrawny farm dog wags its tail and comes to walk at his heel, wandering off to sniff at things and then coming back for a scratch behind its ears.

Ajay’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out. Answers it with a smile already forming on his face.

“Rabi, hi. What are you doing up so early?”

“Ajay! Hey, what’s up, how you doing? Good? That’s great dude, all that work you’ve been doing, you deserve to feel good. You’re looking after yourself, right? Self-care is pretty important. And for me that’s bacon, beer, some new tunes- hey, what do you know, I’m living the dream already! Or I would be, if fucking Sabal didn’t keep trying to shut my station down. Did you hear about that? I’m not saying you didn’t try do anything about it, because I know you, and you are so not that much of an asshole. I figured maybe he wasn’t mentioning it-“

“He wasn’t,” Ajay interrupts. “Holy shit. What, did he try take all your equipment away? I’ll talk to him, that’s just bullshit. Kyrat _needs_ a radio station. How else are we supposed to get news out?”

“Right? And he wasn’t trying to shut down the station, exactly, just the country’s favourite DJ.”

“He tried to-“

“Sure did. But hey, you know, I’ve been in this game for a while, I mean, I started this job way back in my teens. And not everyone liked the content I was producing, but that is their problem and they should just learn to love themselves because plenty of people did. I got a lot of fans, especially in Banapur. The regent wanted to replace me with one of his bitches, but it takes more than _that_ to take Rabi Ray Rana out of the game. I’m just not good at knowing when to quit. Kind of like you, now I think about it. Your personality, the stuff you do, all those outposts, and- can I just say it, because it’s been on my mind for a while now, but dude- have you _seen_ your ass? I am telling you, it’s _fine_. You’ve got an ass that won’t quit, and I respect that so much. I really do.”

“Take your word for it,” Ajay says with an awkward laugh. “Uh. Shit, look, I’m really sorry Sabal tried to kick you off your own show. That’s not okay. I’ll have a word with him, make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Thanks, Ajay, you’re the best. Seriously, best guy ever, I don’t even know how you’re not getting laid every night. You’re not, right?”

“Is this conversation happening on live radio, because I’m really not comfortable with-”

“I mean, that is such a shame, because it’s like- you’re awesome, you know? You’re hot and sweet and considerate, and I just feel like that needs to be appreciated a bit more. You should be bathing in the booty. Hey, so tell me, do you jack off? Okay, that was a really stupid question, let me rephrase that. Do you jack off a lot? Would you say that it was once a day, or more than that? Because I was just sitting there the other day manning the station and I was thinking, man, I wonder what Ajay’s up to right now-”

“ _Rabi_ ,” Ajay interrupts, his voice cracking slightly. “Can we please not talk about this. I’m…way too sober, and you’re probably recording all of it. Look, I’ll have a word with Sabal. He’s not going to bother you again.”

“Thanks, Ajay, I knew I could count on you. And, hey, speaking of sober- I’m throwing a party tomorrow night, before I pack up my stuff and move back to my undisclosed broadcasting location. It’s not going to be huge, just a hundred or so people. You want in? You can bring your roomies if you want, I met Pranav the other day and he seems pretty cool. Plus I figure you need a chance to chill. You bring some raksi, I’ll hook you up with weed or whatever, we can party it up like everything’s okay and the regent isn’t trying to censor the voice of free Kyrat. You in?”

“Sure. I’m not doing anything else.”

“Looking forward to it already. Oh man, I am going to introduce you to so many people. You met Sharma Salsa? Yeah? How about Chiffon? Oh my god, that is so cool, we have all the same friends. It’s almost like we’re made for each other. But, hey, I’m pretty sure I can find plenty of cool kids that you don’t know yet. It can be like networking! I am not stopping until you’re the most popular guy in the country, just you watch.”

 _Nice to have friends,_ Ajay thinks when Rabi apologises abruptly (“oh shit, sorry, I gotta go, my song’s ending-”) and hangs up. _This place has some cool people in it._

With his eyesore T-Shirts and outdated pop culture references, Rabi reminds him a lot of some of the guys back home. Chill people in no hurry to get _proper_ jobs, going wherever the wind took them. No worries about the future; no plans outside the present. Sometimes that life feels so distant he wonders if he dreamed it. Feels like the kid living his memories is someone else entirely.

He’s done a lot of growing up recently.

Ajay leaves for Khilana Bazaar half an hour later, perched on the roof of Banhi’s truck with a grenade launcher held in one hand. Pranav is with him, scoping the landscape out through binoculars. Achal is in the passenger seat next to Banhi. They’ve got the radio going; Ajay doesn’t recognise the bouncy Bollywood pop beat. But Pranav hums along, tapping his fingers on the rooftop, and he carries a tune with about as much skill as he handles scouting duty.

“You know those are upside down, right?” Ajay asks at one point, nodding at Pranav’s binoculars.

Pranav gives them a sceptical look, flipping them over. “Oh, what do you know, so they are. Never even noticed. Not that they’re much good anyway, with all these cracks in them. I don’t know why we even bother.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on bear watch? You know, so one of them doesn’t run onto the road and wreck the truck.”

“That’s true,” Pranav agrees. “I couldn’t _bear_ it if that happened.” He winks. “Back to work, I suppose. Slave driver.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It is a little bit funny.”

“With _actual slaves_ in the mines up north?”

“See,” Pranav says, peering through his binoculars, “Now you’re getting it. When your choices are to either laugh or cry, I find it’s a lot better for your sanity if you take the humour option. It just makes things a little easier to deal with, you know?”

They have to park outside the outpost itself, finding a space between the trucks and SUVs already in residence. The place is bustling, more than Ajay’s ever seen it; surveyors with clipboards, soldiers unloading wood and boxes of tools. They’re painting the main safe house, he notices. Refreshing the bright red door, recoating the walls. Place is looking better already.

“This used to be a marketplace,” Banhi tells him as they pick their way past a group of workers sawing wood down to useable planks. “Most popular one in the area, we’d come here all the time. Meat, fruit, vegetables, sweets, fabric, jewellery, some of the places even had imported goods. Shampoo, makeup, that sort of thing. They brought it in over the mountains from India. And anything I had to spare from the animals, I’d bring to sell. We sort of had a little community here. Pagan’s soldiers put a stop to all that.”

“Looks like it’s coming back.” Animals mill in pens on the outskirts of the Bazaar, next to wooden crates containing mounds of bright cloth - not weapons, for once. A couple of hopeful vendors have already set up rickety stalls selling fresh-cut fruit, deep fried sweets and ostensibly filtered water. They’re drawing quite the crowd.

They find Sabal on the shady porch of a building a little way off from the main hub of activity, along with several soldiers from his inner circle. Manjeet is among them; so, to Ajay’s surprise, is the diminutive Karishma. There is a table in front of them, a map of the outpost spread across it.

“-I know we’re having problems,” Sabal is saying as they approach. It takes Ajay a moment to spot the phone on the table; he’s addressing whoever is on the line. “No surprises there. Can’t anybody take care of themselves in this place? No, Hasan, that wasn’t aimed at you. You’re doing everything you can.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s just not enough.” The man on the other end of the call sounds hassled. “I’m in touch with the leaders of the northern rebellion, and the soldiers who live in the area, and we’re all being blocked at every turn. People are hostile, Sabal. They’re confused, they don’t understand what’s going on. Half of them assume you’re just going to take over Pagan’s position; the rest are so brainwashed they actually believe all his lies about the Golden Path being terrorist extremists. They don’t want us helping with rebuilding or anything. We don’t even dare _camp_ in Utkarsh.”

“Gods, give me patience,” Sabal mutters. “How’s the Royal Army activity in the area? Any sign they’re giving up?”

“Not really. We still get the odd surrender here and there, but it looks like most of them are digging in and getting ready to fight. They don’t think we’ll be much of a threat. They think we got lucky, and we’ll be overthrown soon.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“You’re needed here,” says the man. “If you can come to Utkarsh, maybe you can calm things down. You and Ajay Ghale; they remember him, they’ve heard the stories and they know he defended them during the artillery strikes. I don’t think anything else is going to make these people understand that we’re in control, and we want to help them. They’re all shell-shocked, grieving – they need to see the both of you.”

“Understood,” Sabal tells him. “It’ll be a few days before I can make the trip, but I’ll come as soon as I can.”

“We both will,” Ajay says. Sabal turns, startled, and smiles at him. It’s small, and it fades fast, but it’s the first ray of light Ajay’s seen in his eyes for almost two weeks. He moves to take his place on Sabal’s right at the table, and the soldiers standing nearby move to make room. “Hasan, right? Just…hold out a little longer, okay? We’ll be there. Whatever’s the problem, we’ll fix it.”

“Whatever it takes,” Sabal agrees. He drapes an arm around Ajay’s shoulders; a casual gesture that feels anything but.

They’ve had a rough few weeks, to say the least. News about the poppy fields spread quickly. In its wake came the inevitable questions, the accusations from people who feel that Sabal is betraying them with his sudden change of policy. People who feel lied to. And maybe the worst of it is that Sabal himself agrees with them; he wrestles to regulate an industry he wants nothing to do with, delegating as much as he can and handling the rest with a palpable air of disgust. It’s going to come back to bite him. He can’t _afford_ a hands-off approach on something as volatile as heroin production. He has to understand that, and Ajay’s tried telling him.

The fights have been…nasty.

Ajay reaches up to clasp Sabal’s hand where it drapes over his shoulder. Just for a second; they’ve got eyes on them, sharp and prickling against the back of his neck. He’s coming to realise that it’s a bad idea to get too friendly with Sabal in public, at least until they sort themselves out. If they’re together, they’re _together_ , and the entire country will know in the space of days. He’s just not ready for that level of commitment yet.

“So,” Ajay says, reluctantly letting go of Sabal’s wrist. “Trouble in Utkarsh, huh. That’s weird. I figured they’d be happy to have the Golden Path around, after what Pagan did to them. Executions and artillery strikes? How come _we’re_ the bad guys here?”

“We’re not. They suffered under Pagan’s brainwashing, but that can be fixed. We just need to talk to the ones in charge, show them we’re only trying to do what’s best for people. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“I sure hope so.”

“We overthrew Pagan, brother,” Sabal says, squeezing his shoulder. “We can handle a bunch of uncooperative villagers. All they need is a little guidance.”

“Okay,” Ajay says. “And speaking of guidance…” He glances at the Golden Path people nearby. They’re busy, mostly, talking in groups or taking notes on whatever task they’ve been assigned. Karishma lays another map on the table, this one of the whole country. She starts dividing it into regions with a pencil, her lips moving soundlessly.

A couple of soldiers are making no secret of the fact that they’re listening in. Manjeet, the gossip, catches Ajay’s eye and grins. It’s not a good time for what he wants to talk about.

 _There’s never going to be a good time,_ Ajay thinks irritably.

“I hear someone was trying to shut down Radio Free Kyrat or something,” he says before he can think better of it. “Which doesn’t make any sense, it’s the only radio station that reaches the whole country. We kind of need it. What’s going on with that?”

Sabal stiffens beside him; the arm around Ajay’s shoulder is suddenly tense. “It was never a question of shutting the station down,” he snaps. “I agree with you, we do need it. What we _don’t_ need is for it to be run by a volatile personality with no interest in anything that doesn’t concern him directly. Someone who actually _supports_ the maintenance of the poppy fields. You’ve heard his thoughts on the subject, I assume. He’s promoting them, for Kyra’s sake!”

“Yeah, well, I never said he was smart. He just- he doesn’t think about consequences, he doesn’t get that a lot of people trust what he says because he’s saying it on the radio. He doesn’t understand what the problem is. If you could just, I don’t know, maybe explain it, in a nice way-”

“Some chance of that,” Sabal says with a short, harsh laugh. “If he even bothered to listen, I doubt he’d absorb any of it. Of all the self-centred, thoughtless-”

“Why don’t you try talk to him, Ajay?” Manjeet interrupts. He’s looking between the two of them with an amused expression, like he hasn’t seen anything more entertaining all day. “You see plenty of Rabi, don’t you? I know he was hoping you’d come to his leaving party tomorrow night. Something about how it wouldn’t be as fun without you. You’re going, right?”

“Sure,” Ajay says. “I kind of have to, I’m pretty sure he called me on live radio. He does that a lot.”

Sabal pulls his arm from Ajay’s shoulders. “Really,” he says. “You didn’t mention.”

“Why, are we busy tomorrow night?” Ajay turns, takes in the sudden hostility in Sabal’s expression, and winces.

_Guess he didn’t invite you. Wonder why._

“I thought you’d be glad he was going,” he tries. “This way he won’t he hanging around Banapur trying to score interviews with people all the time. He’ll be out of the way. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Oh, I want him gone, alright,” Sabal says coldly. “Gone from Banapur, and gone from the radio station we need to be able to control. He’s causing problems, Ajay. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard the things he’s saying. It’s no wonder people up north are afraid of us, if all they ever hear are horror stories and taunts, from someone they believe knows everything about the situation. The Rana boy is spreading _lies._ ”

“He’s just mad because you called him a coward, it’s the only way he can get back at you. If you could just apologise-”

“That’s not happening.”

“Stalemate?” Manjeet suggests. He folds his arms, leaning one hip on the table and grinning. _At least someone’s enjoying this,_ Ajay thinks. “Sabal says he won’t apologise- and trust me on this, Ajay, he really won’t. He has this thing about holding grudges. And if I know Rabi Rana, he could keep going for _years_. He’s done it before.”

Sabal rounds on him. “If you have any suggestions, I’m all ears. Otherwise I’ll thank you to stay out of this.”

“You’ve already heard my suggestion,” Manjeet shrugs. “Get Ajay to do it. If it comes from him, it might actually work- or so rumour has it.” He doesn’t elaborate on what rumour he’s referring to; he doesn’t have to. The suggestion alone is enough to undermine any other argument Ajay might have made. And if there was ever any chance of Sabal backing done, it’s gone now.

 _Fuck this_ , Ajay thinks wearily. “Look, you can’t go and take Rabi’s radio station off him just because you don’t like what he’s saying about you. That’s censorship. It’s not going to be a good look for us, and all it does is prove him right. He’ll probably just start up again somewhere else anyway.”

“If he manages that, then he can broadcast whatever he wants, with my blessing,” Sabal says. “I’ve never met a dead man who could run a radio station. Maybe he’ll surprise us all.”

“Knock it off,” Ajay says sharply. “Okay? Death threats stop being funny when you’re actually executing people. You keep saying stuff like that and I can kind of see why Rabi might tell people to be afraid of you.”

“You’re very quick to defend him,” Sabal retorts. “How am I supposed to take that? This bias of yours-”

“He’s a friend, and you’re trying to take away something really important to him. He started that radio station; he gets to keep it. And you can either be a little nicer to him, or just accept that he’s going to say whatever the hell he wants and there’s nothing you can do about it. Because you’re not killing him. I can’t believe that’s something I have to _say_ to you.”

Ajay is distantly aware that they’re raising their voices, drawing attention from all sides. Curious glances, worried looks and half-hidden smirking. It’s too public. They can’t be doing this here - except, it looks like they are. Sabal makes no move to take it somewhere else. It’s like he assumes that shouting Ajay down will shut him up. And it won’t. Not if Rabi’s actually in danger here. The guy is an insensitive, immature jerk, and Sabal isn’t getting anywhere near him.

“Leave Rabi alone,” he says, forcing his voice lower. “He’s harmless.”

“He’s incompetent, and a lot more dangerous than you give him credit for.” Sabal matches his volume, throwing an irritated glance at the Golden Path soldiers lingering close enough to catch the argument. “If he stays where he is, then I want him _muzzled_. And he’s lucky that’s all I’m asking.”

Ajay feels the last few threads of his temper fray away and snap. “Incompetent?” he asks. “Seriously? That’s all you’ve got? How about you cut the bullshit and admit that you’re just doing this because you don’t like the guy?”

Sabal’s eyes glitter, sharp enough to cut. “Full of answers, aren’t you? Have you considered that maybe the problem is that you like him too much?”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“If you can’t work it out, then it’s not my place to tell you,” Sabal says. The rage on his face flickers out like silenced gunfire, switched out in favour of lofty arrogance. He shakes his head; goes so far as to turn away from Ajay, back towards the table and the maps. _We’re done here,_ he doesn’t say, but the meaning is clear. Ajay stares at his back and chokes down words they’d both regret.

 _Fine,_ he thinks bitterly. _You know what, I’m going to that party Rabi’s throwing. I’m telling him he gets to keep his radio station, and that he can say whatever he fucking wants about you, and I won’t give a shit. Might give him a couple of suggestions if he’s low on material. Maybe a lot of suggestions. Fuck you, you…jerk._

He stalks away, aware of the eyes on him, judgemental looks weighing him down, heavy and humiliating.

It’s another sleepless night, though his muscles ache from lifting wood, holding it still, hammering it in place. Ajay stares up at the ceiling above his bed. Tries counting sheep, and then when that doesn’t work, switches to honey badgers. It just has the effect of making him jittery as well as awake. Eventually he takes the hint and goes for a walk.

The night is a quiet one, or as quiet as it ever gets on a farm. Full moon, chill air; he walks the perimeter with a gun in one hand. By now he could do it in his sleep. Sometimes he wonders if he does.

 _What the hell am I doing here,_ he thinks, hoisting himself up to perch on a solid section of fence. _I don’t belong. I’m not even wanted. I should have left as soon as I was done with winning this war. Guess that’s what Sabal was hoping would happen._

2am blues, or whatever it’s called. The night is a bad time for introspection. And he knows if he turns around, he’ll see a homestead belonging to friends, people who really do seem to want him around. Banapur is filled with people who greet him every day. Greet him, give him things; he goes for a walk down the street and comes back with mangoes, pomegranates, the odd sugar cane stick. Gets invited into people’s homes for tea and gossip. He _is_ welcome. Not everyone expected him to do all the work and then hand over responsibility and fuck right off.

He jumps when his phone buzzes; checks the time. After midnight, long before dawn, and definitely not the kind of time he expects to be getting calls from unlisted numbers. For a moment Ajay considers ignoring it.

“Whatever,” he mutters, and answers the call. “Who the hell calls at this time of night, huh? Some people are trying to sleep.”

“Well _excuse_ me,” says a familiar voice. “I’ll have you know, it’s the middle of the fucking day here in island retirement paradise, and some of us have better things to do than look up the time in a tiny shithole of a place nobody cares about. _Someone_ has to drink this cocktail, and I don’t see you offering.”

“Oh god. How did you get this number?”

“How do magnets work? Why did the chicken cross the road? What is the meaning of our miserable, crack-addled existence? God’s sake, boy, chalk it up to one of life’s great mysteries and move on already.”

Ajay kicks his heels against the wooden fence and toys with the idea of throwing his phone off into the bushes. It’s tempting. Probably the smart thing to do. It’s certainly what Sabal would want him to do.

The phone bites into his ear; he grips it tight enough that it must be at risk of cracking.

“Okay,” he says. “You know what, I don’t even care. Did you call to let me know how bad I fucked things up here?”

Pagan sighs in his ear. “Well, I was hoping to sugar-coat it a little more, but I suppose if we’re skipping the bullshit- _yes,_ I’m bloody disappointed in you. I mean, seriously? You really fell for the ‘rebel Jesus’ persona? Fuck me. Even _Yuma’s_ a better actress than that, and she couldn’t act if her life depended on it. I mean, what did you think he was going to do? Hang up his weapon and pray everything back into shape?”

“I don’t know,” Ajay says honestly. “I never- we never really talked about what would happen when the war was done. Guess I just figured it was all going to be okay.” He laughs softly. “Yeah, go ahead and laugh. It’s not like you did any better.”

“Don’t be cheeky, boy, it doesn’t suit you. Where’s that terrifying young man who murdered his way up to my palace to confront me, hm? I thought I was going to burst with pride.” Voices in the background of the call; Ajay can just make out a request for a replacement cocktail, and “Oh, excellent, just put the caviar down over here. Thank _you_.”

He feels a smile tugging at his mouth. Wherever he is, the ex-king is living it up like he always used to. Giving no fucks about anyone but himself. Not having to worry about starvation, or gold mines, or stubborn, thoughtless goddamn _regents_ -

“-as I was saying,” Pagan mumbles through a mouthful of something undoubtedly expensive, “I’m surprised at you, Ajay. What was it I said to you back at the palace? One down, one to go? That wasn’t intended to be an optional _suggestion_. You were supposed to take it as life advice from someone who knows too fucking well what a bloodthirsty son-of-a-bitch looks like. Wasn’t I clear enough? Was that the problem? Maybe I should have phrased it differently: “put the rabid dog down before he castrates you with his teeth,”, yes. That might actually have worked.”

“Yeah, well, he hasn’t done that, so-”

“Instead you’re letting him push you around, letting him take control of your own damn country! You could have been king! That was what I wanted for you, and it’s not like it would have taken you much effort to establish yourself, given that half the country was practically worshipping you by then. And instead you settle for a silver medal and let someone else take the gold that was yours by right? I mean, _really,_ Ajay? Is his dick _that_ bomb?”

Ajay stares down at the ground in between his knees. “Uh, no,” he mutters. “I mean, I don’t know. We’re not-”

“Please tell me that’s a fucking joke,” Pagan says flatly. “You gave him an entire country. You even had the decency to remove his rival from the picture! For that kind of effort, you should be fucking him all over his brand, spanking new kingdom, pun completely intended. Or he should be fucking you, I don’t know your goddamn preferences. The point, I think, is clear. What are you _doing?_ ”

“Hell if I know,” Ajay tells him. “I just- I thought it would be easy. I thought we could make it all better.”

“Yes, well, from what I hear you’re doing a piss-poor job of that. What’s this about Shanath Arena? Slave labour in the northern mines? Sounds like something I’d do. Oh wait- I did, didn’t I. Lovely. The new regent doesn’t even have the originality to make up his own damn atrocities. Tyranny and plagiarism? I don’t know _what_ the world is coming to these days.”

“I knew it,” Ajay says. “You’re calling to say that you told me so. Great. Just what I need right now.”

“No, don’t be ridiculous,” Pagan tells him. “Tough love is one thing, but I’m not heartless enough to stand back and laugh while you drown.” His voice softens, oddly fond. “You’re worth more than that. Though I’m not sure _you_ know it, which is a tragic shame.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’ll work it out. Did you find the food stockpiles I left you? I spent years building those up, just in case you ever decided to show. Those will get you through the next few years. And imagine how popular you’ll be, solving the starvation crisis out of nowhere!”

“We don’t have any food stockpiles,” Ajay says. “Yuma made her soldiers burn them down months ago. We’re back to selling heroin just to get through the winter.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

“Well, fuck.”

“Tell me about it.”

“At least you still have the poppies, then” Pagan says with forced cheer. “They’re worth a fair amount, I can tell you. Though I suppose it’s not pleasing Mister ‘Drugs are bad, we should all get high on life and self-flagellation’. I bet he’s just fucking furious. We should count ourselves lucky he didn’t have your throat cut for not solving that problem for him too.”

“Hey,” Ajay says, “That’s not… He’s not going to hurt me. And I don’t think he’s mad about the poppies. More like it’s tearing him up to keep them around, but he’s going to do it to keep people alive. He cares a lot more than you ever did.”

“Oh, whoopty-fucking-doo. So his heart bleeds when he’s not busy cutting out other people’s. How nice for him. Has he learnt your name yet, or are you still _son of Mohan_? I suppose that would be awkward if you two ever did get around to screwing.”

“He knows my name. It was literally the first thing he said to me, when he came to rescue me from you and your psycho torture buddy.”

“Have you considered how tragic it is that you remember the first thing he said to you?” Pagan asks wryly. “The only other person I know who would be that unironically pathetic is- me, actually. What a surprise. It’s probably a good thing I didn’t stick around, I’d have made a pretty god-awful role model for you.”

“Part of me kind of wishes you’d stayed,” Ajay admits. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what’s important and what we can leave for later; kind of feels like everything I do is the opposite of what I _should_ have done. Is there like…a guide for this kind of thing? Twelve step plan, maybe?”

“Well it certainly helps to know what you actually _want_ ,” Pagan says. “Oh, I’m sure Sabal has his vision, woefully unrealistic though it probably is. But you’re a different story, and frankly, you’re the only one I give a fuck about. Where do you want to take your country? Do you know? Do you even care?”

“Yeah, I care!” Ajay snaps back. “I don’t think I’ve ever cared so much in my entire life! I’ve got all these- these people, and they’re looking at me for answers, like I’ve got the solutions to all their problems. And I don’t! But they think I do, because they heard I helped their…neighbour’s cousin’s sister when she was taken hostage this one time. And obviously that means I know all about solving food shortages and making sure everyone has healthcare access.”

“Urgh, boring.”

Ajay digs his fingernails into the wooden fence, splinters of wood pressing sharp into his skin. “See, that’s why we’re even _in_ this mess! Because you couldn’t be fucked helping people. You just wanted to…make a fuckload of money and build solid gold statues of yourself and pay for plastic surgery for doubles so you could care even _less_ about what was going on outside your palace.”

“Yes, well, like I told you-”

“Shut _up!_ ” Ajay roars at him. For a moment the night is still, the distant animals gone quiet and wary. All he can hear is the raging pound of his heartbeat. He takes a deep breath. “Just- don’t even start, okay, just don’t. I’ve been trying to save people since I arrived in this fucking place. Trying to fix all the broken things. Only, it turns out Sabal isn’t exactly who I thought and now I have no idea who he even is, or what the hell he wants to turn Kyrat into. I can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to. I have no control, it’s like- like I’m getting dragged under by the current, and I don’t even know how to swim. There are probably demon fish down here. Either way, I’m fucked, and there’s no way to fix it. _Fuck._ ”

He yanks his hand away from the fence, wincing. Blood wells up under one of his nails. Splinters, on top of everything else. Figures.

“Are you feeling any better?” Pagan asks mildly. “Not that I’m trying to rush you or anything, do feel free to go on if you need to. I’ll just sit here and pretend I’m listening. No pressure.”

Ajay sucks on his wounded finger. The anger came and went, fizzled out in seconds. Like it always does. He’s never been any good at staying mad. “This is all your fault,” he snaps, but it’s half-hearted. “You ruined so many lives. Fuck you.”

“There, there. Let it all out, dear boy, you’ll feel much better. Or so my therapist tells me, and I haven’t had him murdered yet. He may well be onto something. What do you think?”

“I think you’re probably holding your therapist’s family hostage.”

“Lies and slander.”

“Whatever.”

Pagan chuckles. “You really are magnificent, have I told you? Far more than I could ever have hoped for. Ishwari would have been truly proud of you, I can tell you that. And I hope she did too.”

“Yeah,” Ajay says, suddenly sombre. “She did. I didn’t listen as much as I should have, but yeah.”

“You don’t have to stay,” Pagan tells him quietly. All the humour is gone now; he’s oddly gentle, cajoling. “I realise now that it was a mistake getting you mixed up in this. In my mess. Even if your mother thought you were ready, she couldn’t possibly have predicted the choices you’d make, or the situation you’d find yourself in. I mean, let’s be frank: you’re fucked, boy, and not in the fun way. None of this should be _your_ problem. I blame myself, of course. I stirred up a hornet’s nest with the Golden Path, and you’re the one left in the line of their stings.”

“Funny,” Ajay says. “You’re not even the first person to tell me I should just leave. Like it’s that easy.”

“Isn’t it? What the bloody hell do you have to stay for, hm? A few hundred thousand smelly, uneducated savages and their ruin of a country? An inadvisable crush on a man who only wants you for as long as you prove useful?”

“That’s not-“

“Oh, bullshit it’s not. It’s time someone told you this, and un-fucking-fortunately it has to be me, seeing as Ishwari apparently couldn’t be arsed. You can want someone without loving them, boy. It’s true! Very possible. I can’t tell you the number of hookers I’ve had since your mother- oh, I’m sorry, is that a bit TMI for your delicate ears? Fine, fine. Moving right along. My _point_ is that your beloved regent could very easily be using you for your name and sterling reputation. Oldest trick in the book; I’ve used it myself. Keep ‘em wanting, keep ‘em thinking there’s a chance. And then take them for all they’re worth, and toss them to the curb when you’ve sucked the poor bastards dry.”

“That’s not how it is,” Ajay says doggedly. “You just- you don’t know him. He’s not like that. And nobody’s that good a liar.”

“Stubborn boy,” Pagan says. “Just like your mother. Alright then, if you insist. My offer is as such: I’ll send a small plane to the airport, assuming it’s not swarming with terrorists, and you can come and spend a well-earnt and potentially permanent vacation here with me. Oh, it’s not quite the same as a country, I concede; you might find it a bit small compared to what you’re accustomed to. But the weather is lovely and the beaches are to _die_ for. Literally. I saw a shark in the water the other day, and you wouldn’t believe how many grenades I had to fire at it to make it go away. Absolutely shocking.”

“You want me to come hang on your private island?”

“It’s not a bad idea, you have to admit. I fucked up; let me fix it for you. Come and enjoy the high life for as long as it entertains you, and then if you still have a hankering for home I can fly you back to the States. No more stress, no more starving peasantry, and Sabal can find some other credulous idiot to lie to. Sounds pretty good, right?”

“Sounds like running away.”

“Ajay,” Pagan says. “You….do realise that you don’t owe this country anything, don’t you? That kingdom I gave you was supposed to be a gift. Now, in hindsight, I accept that it might be causing you more stress than originally planned, and that’s my fault completely. But you don’t have to stick it out. You certainly don’t have to let it _ruin_ you. You’re too good for that. Far more than Kyrat deserves. Don’t let it kill you, Ajay. Don’t let it drink you dry. Just take your fucking escape route and let me make amends, there’s a good boy.”

An island escape. White sands, servants, cocktails and luxury food. No more new government, or drug problems, or Shanath Arena. No more Banhi, Achal, or Pranav. No more Sabal. No more Kyrat.

 _My son is not a coward,_ Ishwari whispers. And, for the first time, Ajay starts to think that maybe she was onto something. “Thanks,” he says, “But I’m gonna have to go with ‘no’. I mean, I really appreciate you asking, it’s…kind of you. Seriously. Thank you. But I’m here now, and I have commitments. I agreed to stay. And I’m gonna stick it out. Pretty sure that’s what Mom would have wanted me to do; it’s what _I_ want me to do. But thanks.”

He thinks he hears Pagan sigh; hard to tell over the long-distance call. “Offer’s open if you ever reconsider. Save my number, won’t you? Just in case. Because let me tell you, things can change in the blink of an eye. One minute you have everything, and the next your daughter is dead and your lover’s run off to murder her husband and flee the country. You can’t know where life will take you. And if you need help, I’d like to know you have people to call. Me, specifically. Even if you need me to come right back and _royally_ fuck Sabal up. I’ll do it. I’d consider it an honour.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind,” Ajay says. He laughs; he can’t help himself. “You take care of yourself, okay? Don’t…overdo the coke, I don’t know. Enjoy your beaches.”

“Already am,” Pagan says cheerfully. “But they’d be a lot better with you here. We could take pot shots at sharks together, you’d love it. Maybe hunt a few of the natives when things get quiet. I’m eyeing up some of the real estate, the climate’s ideal for a spot of…agriculture. Heroin was lovely while it lasted, but it never hurts to have a side line in weed. Take my word for it.”

“Sure. Maybe. Uh….yeah. Good night? Talk to you again sometime?” Ajay cuts the call before Pagan can start preaching on the benefits of switching from heroin production to marijuana. He wonders for a moment how Sabal would react to hearing such a lecture; finds himself laughing helplessly at the thought.

So. Pagan still has sources in Kyrat. It’s not really surprising; maybe he should be doing something about it, but Ajay can’t quiet bring himself to worry. The king is gone. Sounds pretty happy in his retirement paradise, sharks and all. He’s not coming back.

“Well, Mom,” he says out loud. “I’m not saying you should have done what you did, but…I guess he’s pretty cool. Not _that_ much of a jackass. I don’t know if he counts as family, but _he_ thinks so, and you sent me back here so maybe you agree. Holy shit, he’s weird though.”

He slides off the fence and heads back indoors, pausing to pet the scruffy farm dog on the way in. In the shed, the chickens are rustling. Dozing, not yet awake. Dawn is just a few hours away.

The new day comes, and with it another road trip. Tirtha this time, a journey of several hours. Ajay spends it wondering if he didn’t prefer making it alone, the way he used to. Far from Sabal’s stony silence and the confused looks they get from the soldiers sharing their vehicle. Ajay doesn’t say a word. Wonders instead how much worse it’ll be tomorrow; he’s going to Rabi’s farewell party, with or without the regent’s approval.

Maybe Sabal will finally snap and just _admit_ to what the issue is. But then again, actual communication might be a bit too much to ask right now.

At least the trip itself feels like a step in the right direction in terms of fixing up Kyrat. Sabal’s census got underway surprisingly quickly; people _want_ their names recorded, and they want their claims to land and resources written down on paper, and thus made official. The queues in Banapur stretched the length of the village when the census booths first opened. From the sounds of it, the situation’s pretty much the same in all surrounding areas. Shanath Arena too, though that’s not a surprise, given how heavy the armed Golden Path presence is.

Tirtha is a different matter. It’s just that bit too far out, too lightly garrisoned, distanced from the regent’s coaxing and charisma. And it’s just important enough to warrant an official visit from the man himself, so. Here they are. Stepping out from their vehicles and into the town, Ajay following a measured few steps behind.

 _Should I have my head bowed too?_ he wonders, and the unexpected bitterness has the feel of Amita to it.

They pass the hours in conversation; meetings with elders, sādhu, the local producers. Sabal plays the benevolent general. Offers troops for protection, trucks to transport goods for trade, assistance for anyone who needs help rebuilding. His demands sound simple in comparison. Spread the census around, make sure people answer it. Inform the Golden Path of any threats in the area, any dissidents with the nerve to preach the name, _Pagan Min._

Late afternoon, Ajay finds himself barred from a meeting.

“It’s just more of the same,” Sabal tells him impersonally. “Nothing you haven’t heard before, brother, and I doubt there’s much you could add to the discussion.”

The comment stings, whether it meant to or not.

“Okay,” Ajay says. “Is there…anywhere else you wanted me to be, then? What do I need to be doing?”

“Go check on the people gathering census information; they mentioned earlier there were some issues with farmers not wanting to answer our questions. Suspicious, and who can blame them? You’re good at calming people. Go see if you can do anything. Karishma will show you where to go.”

The woman is waiting when Ajay turns, dismissed and unhappy about it. She, at least, looks pleased to see him.

“There you are, good,” she says. “Ajay Ghale in the flesh. I wish you wouldn’t spend so much time in meetings, we really do need you out where people can see. They believe in you. And that makes them more inclined to do what we ask, for their own good.”

“When did you get back from the palace?”

“Yesterday morning.” She sets a hurried pace through the town, clinging to her armful of folders and documents. “There was nothing else I could do there. We’ve got people minding the accounts. With any luck, they’ll find buried treasure. But I don’t intend to run this country’s finances on luck alone. This way.”

“How come people won’t answer the questions? It’s just basic stuff, right? Like…ages, addresses, that kind of thing.”

“Yes,” Karishma agrees. “Among other things. Some people are unhappy with having to provide us with the details of their land holdings. And rightly so; we’re going to be doing some redistributing. It’s not official yet, but it’s going to happen. Can’t be helped.”

“So wait, what’s this about land redistribution? I thought we were running a census.” Ajay lengthens his stride a little to catch up with Karishma. For such a small woman, she sure moves fast.

“Politics,” she tells him. “Of _course._ Our war’s going so well, we’re even recruiting statistics to fight for us! Nothing’s sacred anymore. I can run a census, if you ask me to, and run it well; I’ve divided the country into regions, delegated teams for data collection in the south, set up official offices and made preparations for collating the information when we get it. I’ll do the same with the north, once it’s safe to travel without an armed escort. But this has nothing to numbers. It’s not _about_ the population as a whole.”

“Sabal says it is.”

“Official government viewpoint, no doubt,” Karishma says briskly. “I’m sure that’s what he _has_ to stay. No, trust me on this, we’re not looking to count how many babies were born last year. This is entirely to do with wartime contributions. Who did what, where, and for how long. Who gave us soldiers or donations; who turned us away. And then, as an extension: how much land do they have? How much stock? Have they earnt themselves a reward for risks taken, or will we be confiscating their surplus and then some, in payment for services they didn’t render? That’s the real question.”

“That can’t be right,” Ajay says. “That’s….what, we’re taking revenge on farmers now? What the hell? Pretty sure all they want is to be left alone so they can recover. We can’t march in and take their farms away!”

“Not all their farms,” Karishma tells him. It’s possible she thinks she sounds comforting. “Just a certain percentage, which we’ll redistribute to people who assisted the Golden Path. It’s logical. Those who took risks get rewarded for their efforts. It makes sense when you think about it.”

“Yeah? You want to tell _them_ that?” They’re approaching a sort of pavilion, fabric stretched out on poles to provide a little shade for the people working underneath. Golden Path blue is outnumbered by the bright, mismatched civilians clustering around, pushing to secure attention from anyone who looks like they might be in charge. Ajay feels his stomach sink. It’s quite the crowd. Quite the rowdy, demanding potential-mob. And he knows exactly who the most senior person around is.

Part of him wonders if Sabal knew about this. Sent him ahead in the full knowledge that Ajay might end up faced with a crowd he probably won’t be able to handle. If this is some kind of punishment for throwing his support behind Rabi.

He wishes he could be sure Sabal wouldn’t be that petty.

“Okay,” he says under his breath. “Can’t be too hard. Let’s go.”

“Ajay Ghale!” someone shouts before he can make it to the pavilion itself; within seconds, Ajay finds himself surrounded. Mobbed on all sides. Karishma ducks under someone’s arm and past someone else’s elbow, leaving him to handle the civilians on his own.

“Uh, hi,” Ajay says, trying to make himself heard over the hubbub of demands he can’t even make out, except that all of them are urgent and he absolutely has to handle them all personally. “Look, can we just…I don’t know, line up? Maybe? It’s kind of hard to hear you all like this-”

A gunshot splits the air, sudden and sharp. Ajay flinches; around him, people cringe away.

The nearest Golden Path soldier lowers his handgun, giving Ajay a polite nod. “Sorry, sir,” he says, and then raises his voice. “You all heard the Lieutenant-General! If you have problems only he can solve for you, then form an orderly line and wait to be called on!”

 _Lieutenant-General,_ Ajay thinks, frozen to the spot though the crowd is thinning, rearranging itself. _Shit, that’s me, isn’t it?_

“Don’t trouble him with anything minor,” the helpful soldier is shouting. “If you’re here to register your information for the census, go to the tables to your centre and left. Miscellaneous issues to your right. Ajay Ghale will hear you out, but only for the most important matters. Otherwise, let him get back to work. He’s fixing your country for you.”

 _Oh god._ Ajay lets himself be beckoned over to an unused wooden desk by the suddenly reappeared Karishma. She dumps maps onto its surface, folders and documents and lists. No doubt it’s all important. He’s pretty sure he’s never seen any of it.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he says out of the corner of his mouth, past the fixed smile he directs at the group of farmers approaching him. “You’ll help me out, right?”

“Just hear them out,” she tells him. “I doubt there’s much we can’t resolve together. If in doubt, I’ll take their details and you tell them we’ll look into things.”

“Got it.”

The group reaches his makeshift work station. Five members, three men, two women. Middle aged or older, and they move as a unit, sticking as close as they can. The eldest man seems to be their leader; he steps up to the table and the others cluster at his back. They glance around, at the soldiers and the weapons they carry. Only their leader meets Ajay’s eyes.

“So you’re the son of Mohan,” he says. “You don’t look like much.”

“Wow,” Ajay says. “Because I’ve never heard _that_ one before.” He immediately regrets trying to lighten to mood; it comes out too nervous, just crossing the line over into defensive. He amends his tone. “So what’s your issue? Whatever it is, we can probably help.”

The farmer gives him a sceptical look. They’re of a similar height, but Ajay is well aware of how his own build tends to be perceived; scrawny, thin as a rake. He’s never going to be a body-builder. Not that he’d want to be. And people who misjudge him tend to find out their mistake pretty quickly, if they get aggressive about it. He just hopes that won’t be the case here.

“They say you fought in Shanath Arena,” the other man says. “Killed a tiger, and some of King Min’s guards. I’ll take their word for it. Though they also say you were capturing outposts on your own, so maybe the rumours aren’t to be trusted.”

“That’s up to you. I don’t know what people are saying about me.”

“You expect me to believe those stories aren’t started by you?”

“It’s not like it matters what I expect,” Ajay snaps. “You won’t believe me either way.” At his side, Karishma gives a soft cough. He rallies, gets back to the point. “What’s your problem?”

“Royal Army soldiers,” the farmer says bluntly. “On our lands, eating our food. You drove them out of their barracks and outposts, and in their fear they turned their weapons on us. These people with me are all members of our community, and each of them received a visit from soldiers demanding _tribute_ to the glorious Royal Army, on pain of death. They took food, animals, and barricaded themselves away in the largest homestead. Mine, as it happens. We want them off our lands.”

“Um,” Ajay says. “Okay, we can probably handle that. Just show me where your farms are.” He drags the nearest map a little closer.

“We don’t want a mess made, understand. Just remove them without too much bloodshed, so we can get back to our work. Our families won’t feed themselves, and war doesn’t fill empty stomachs.”

“Sure. I get that. Just show me where the farms are, we’ll see what we can do.”

“Have you registered with the census?” Karishma pipes up. “That would be very helpful. Family names, family members, a record of where the boundaries of your lands lie-“

“Why do you need that?” The farmer gives her a wary look. “Doesn’t seem like it’s any of your business.”

“It’s to your benefit,” she tells him. “If we know who lives in a community, who their family is, how many children they have, we can allocate resources without waste. Food supplies, medicine, fuel, wood. We want to help you. It wouldn’t take long, just step over to that line over there when we’re through. We’ll take your details”

The farmer snorts. “Women’s work. My wife will give you your information; I have actual work to do while I’m here. But if you insist…” he waves a dismissive hand, and the people behind him peel off without comment and go join one of the census lines. If he feels exposed without his supporters, he doesn’t show it. “You’ll have your numbers. They won’t feed you through the winter, but you’ll have them.”

“Just show me where your farms are,” Ajay snaps, sick of the way the man looks at Karishma, at the soldiers patiently taking down people’s details. “I can’t promise we’ll get there right away, we’re pretty busy.”

“Writing down information,” the farmer says. “So I see. You do know people are facing starvation, don’t you? I passed petitioners on my way here. Going to Chal Jama Monastery they said; hoping to beg the Tarun Matara for her blessing. Their sons are all dead and their daughters have dishonoured themselves. They ask who will feed them in the winter. But I see we have no shortage of strong young workers here. They could be harvesting, or protecting our farms from bandits. Instead, they write things down.”

“It’s important-“

“It’s no surprise we waited more than twenty years to be free of Pagan and his pets. If anything, I wonder that we were ever freed at all.”

Ajay grits his teeth and doesn’t throw the punch he’s itching to. It wouldn’t look good. Ajay Ghale, decking some unarmed farmer in front of the guy’s wife and who knows how many other people. And it’s not like he doesn’t understand the frustration of not being out there, doing stuff that feels like work. It’s not like he doesn’t question what he spends his days doing.

“Your farms,” he says, forcing himself calm. “I’m not about to just go wandering around the country looking for them. Show me, or go find someone who will. Thank you.”

“Did _you_ lose sons in the war?” Karishma asks as the farmer starts indicating an area on the map. “Did your daughter run off in the night to take up arms? Maybe you lent assistance to the Golden Path in some way?”

“No,” the man says flatly. “And I forbade the rest of the village from doing so. We’re farmers. Same as our ancestors were, and our children will be. No, we left the warfare to the people whose families couldn’t offer them better, who couldn’t find honest work to better themselves. Pagan’s soldiers never threatened us. Until _you_ sent them our way.”

“Yeah, well, that wasn’t on purpose,” Ajay mutters. He glares down at the map, biting his tongue as the farmer takes a pencil from the table and starts drawing in his village’s farms. Maps are valuable around here. Hard to print; they only have the ink from Pagan’s machines, and none when that runs low. Until smuggling operations can be reorganised and they can send merchants down into northern India, they’re stuck with what they have. And what they have never seems to be enough.

He’s distantly aware of Karishma laying her documents down on the table and leaving. Abandoning him to handle this alone; for a moment, he thinks about calling her back. And doesn’t.

“How’s that map going?” he asks instead, wincing at the graphite spreading across their precious map. “Wow, looks like your farm was…decent sized. Uh. Good for you?”

“We had more land, before,” the farmer says, pausing in his drawing. “Some fifteen years ago, a swath of fertile ground was taken from us for poppy planting. That’s still there. We’ve kept watch, and it’s badly guarded. It could be reclaimed when you drive those soldiers away; the land is ours, and it should be returned to its owners.”

“And…that’d be you, I’m guessing?” Ajay asks.

“It’s mine. I’ll include it in this map for you, so you know who it goes to when the soldiers are taken care of.”

“Um,” Ajay says. “I’m…not actually sure that’ll be possible.”

“Why not?”

“We’re actually going to have to keep a lot of the poppy fields as they are, just until we can get the country back on its feet. And even if we burn the poppies, uh, we might…not be able to give it right back. There’s a lot we have to sort out right now.”

He trips over his words, fumbling for excuses, for something that doesn’t require him to outright state the truth. Looks down at the map again, and then back up, to find that the farmer’s attention is now fixed on something over his right shoulder. Dry leaves crunch under a boot, and suddenly Ajay isn’t alone.

“Problems?” Sabal asks in his ear, just loud enough to prompt a frown on the farmer’s face.

“Sort of,” Ajay tells him. He wonders if his relief is as obvious as it feels. “I’m just trying to explain how we’re going to handle reclaiming land.” _But this guy’s not listening to me,_ he wants to say. Would, if he didn’t think it would come out childish. Begging Sabal for help with handling an unarmed civilian who looks at him like he’s worth less than dirt. He shouldn’t be having problems with something so simple. Why do his people skills have to suck so goddamn bad?

“My home was invaded by Royal Army soldiers,” the farmer repeats. He doesn’t offer any kind of greeting, any pleasantries, and Ajay finds himself bristling inwardly. _Doesn’t matter how you treat me,_ he thinks, _but you can fucking show Sabal some respect. He’s earnt it. Even if he is kind of an asshole._

Sabal doesn’t comment on what has to be a deliberate slight. “Soldiers?” he asks mildly. “That’s a shame, but not unexpected. They’re everywhere these days. Nothing we can’t handle, of course, and we’re happy to help out our supporters.” He pauses delicately, just long enough for his meaning to sink in. Continues before the farmer can reply. “You say they took your home?”

“Yes, they…they did.” For the first time, the man hesitates. “Robbed most of my neighbours too. We came for compensation, and to request that you remove the soldiers. You put them there. We were fine until you drove them from their outposts. They never caused us serious problems.”

“No?” Sabal asks. “Lucky for some. They must have been too busy murdering your countrymen and women. Stealing, raping, converting fields to heroin farms. I’m sure they’d have gotten around to you sooner or later.”

“They have some of my- our land,” the farmer says. “They asked to borrow it some years ago, and we… Agreed. It was a drain on resources, and we were compensated-”

“You didn’t have the manpower to work it, and they paid you a fraction of what those poppies were worth to spare them the effort of killing you when you caused trouble,” Sabal translates. He’s quiet, almost friendly; Ajay looks at him and can’t find a trace of humour in his eyes. “You let them use your family lands to manufacture drugs, and you accepted the blood money they paid to keep you quiet. Does that sound about right, friend?”

 _Ouch_ , Ajay thinks, watching a variety emotions war for precedence across the farmer’s face. _Why can’t I do that? You should teach me. Next time we’re not fighting, or disappointing each other, maybe._

The farmer looks at Sabal with caution, among other things; something like confusion, something like worry. Something like slowly dawning fear. “Will you clear the soldiers away or not?” he demands, but his tone lacks the forceful edge it had when he spoke to Ajay.

“Of course,” Sabal says. “And we’ll clear what’s left of De Pleur’s guards from the poppy fields, while we’re there. And seeing as you don’t need them… Well, look at it this way. Those lands haven’t been yours for years. Rest assured that we’ll put them to good use, for the good of Kyrat and its people. The gods will find it to be a fair exchange. Our help, for the gift of something you’re not using. That’s more than fair. What do you think, Ajay?”

Ajay gives start. He glances over at Sabal and sees the slight twitch of his lips, there and gone in the space of a second.

 _You’re such a dick,_ he thinks, warmth curling high in his chest. _And I’m still mad at you, dammit._

“Sounds pretty fair to me,” he says, and doesn’t grin at the farmer like he wants to. “Look, we’ll even clear the corpses away when we’re done liberating your home. We’re all about serving the people around here.”

They stand together and watch the farmer storm off, though Ajay can’t help but notice he makes a token effort at deference before he leaves. The guy won’t have anything good to say about the Golden Path after this, but he wouldn’t have even if they had done everything he wanted. He might warn people to think twice before bringing petty bullshit to Sabal’s attention, though.

“That was… Kind of a terrible thing you just did,” Ajay says at last. “I feel like I shouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as I did.”

Sabal shrugs. “Karishma said you were having trouble. I’m sorry, brother, I shouldn’t have sent you down here unprepared. I didn’t think.”

“Since when have I ever needed babysitting?”

“You don’t,” Sabal says. “But part of warfare is learning to balance strengths and weaknesses, and trying to avoid putting people in situations they can’t handle. You’re one of the most dangerous men I’ve ever met, Ajay. You fight like nothing I’ve ever seen before; that’s your strength, and you have plenty of others. But pushed into the centre of attention-”

“I suck,” Ajay says. “I know, you don’t have to tell me. They stopped making me do speeches back at school after I kept having to run out of the room to throw up. Which…you probably didn’t want to know about. Sorry.”

Sabal smiles, and the expression brings a little light to his eyes. Fades out the purple-bruise shadows that reveal just how much sleep he isn’t getting these days. “I never minded speeches. But for what it’s worth, I once spend half a day being sick all over the place because I couldn’t kill the fish I was supposed to gut and cook for class. Ask Manjeet for the details, if you want them; he’ll direct you to the people who were actually there to see it, gods help them. It’s funnier in hindsight.”

“You couldn’t kill a fish?” Ajay asks. “How come?”

“Fish, chickens, dogs, anything. I couldn’t deal with blood.”

“Holy shit.” _What happened?_ Ajay wants to and doesn’t ask. He’s not sure the answer is something he’s ready to deal with just yet. “I wish I could have seen you as a kid. Sounds like you were pretty different.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Sabal turns away, beckoning, and Ajay follows at his shoulder. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to head back to Banapur already. I’d hoped to stay the night, but we had an attack on one of the outer settlements in the valley early this morning. Word just came through; no casualties, but it was definitely Royal Army. I want a clean sweep of the valley done as soon as possible.”

Karishma is waiting for them by the vehicles, her arms full of census files, nose buried in the topmost one. She doesn’t seem to notice their arrival. Gets into the SUV only when Ajay holds the door open and gently nudges her into the back seat. He hops in on the other side; Sabal is in the passenger seat in front of him.

The distance is both a relief and a disappointment. On the one hand, Ajay can’t help but wish they were closer. Enough to touch, at least, and pass it off as an accident. But on the other…

“So I wasn’t expecting a census to be like _that_ ,” he says. “I just figured it was all numbers and addresses. Not… People showing up and telling us it’s our fault they’ve got soldiers camped out in their houses, and we need to get rid of them.”

“Apparently it’s getting to be a common occurrence,” Sabal says without turning his head. The brief warmth from earlier is already gone. He’s all regent now. “People see it as an opportunity to bring their demands forward where we can’t ignore them.”

“Guess everyone has something they want now Pagan’s gone.”

“Most of them people who never wanted anything to do with us before. Now we’ve won, they’ve decided it means they’re entitled to bring us their demands.”

“I don’t know,” Ajay says. “They probably couldn’t stop the soldiers from taking land off them. And now they’re coming to us to fix things, and we’re just going to be doing the exact same thing. Taking stuff away because we think someone else deserves it more.”

"They shouldn’t get to keep it," Sabal says; cold steel in his voice. Braced to be unbending. "Priority should go to those who risked themselves, their _families_ , to help the Golden Path. We'll be dividing up a lot of land once it's reclaimed, and not all of it will go to the original owners. That's just how things will be."

"I'm not really arguing with you." Ajay stares at the back of the seat, wishing he could catch a glimpse of Sabal's expression. "I actually agree. Go figure."

"Do you? Kyra, that makes a change from the usual."

" _Right?_ " Ajay asks. He immediately feels like the absolute worst. Because that wasn't necessary, he shouldn't have said it, and the tone was a level of sarcastic he's really not comfortable with hearing from himself. "Sorry. That was- I'm being a dick. You helped make that conversation a lot less awkward than it would have been, and I really appreciate it. Thank you."

"Apology accepted, and you're welcome."

"Great."

Ajay leans his head back against the seat, tilting it too stare out the dirt-smeared window at the landscape rushing past. Beautiful, as it always is. Deep greens, unpolluted sky blue, rainbow prayer flag flickers. He loves this place as much as he ever has; as much as he did on that first day, hunched over in a bus that handled road bumps like it was going for the Olympic gold in high jump. If the days that followed hadn't been so busy, he might have complained more about the bruises.

The SUV isn't much better. They go over a particularly rocky piece of road; Ajay's head hits the ceiling, and he bites back a _slow the fuck down if you want us all to get there in one piece_. He's unpopular enough as it is. If Sabal doesn't say anything, he won't either.

He glances at the headrest in front of him. No such thing as a private conversation here in the vehicle. Or anywhere, these days. Not even their fights stay as private as they used to.

"Hey, Sabal?" he asks.

"Hmm?"

He doesn't know how to phrase his question. Or even what his question is; it's more a general topic he's curious about, and it doesn't help that he's not sure he'll like the answer. "So, obviously not everyone joined the Royal Army, and I guess there were a lot of people that didn't side with the Golden Path either. What...did they do? What happened to them? Just kept their heads down and stayed out of the way? Would that even have worked?"

"Worried we left them to fend for themselves?" Sabal turns in his seat, offering Ajay a sidelong smile over the headrest.

Ajay smiles back. Tentative. Mindful of cracks in the thin ice he's stepping out on. "No. Amita, maybe, but not you, not if you had the resources to spare."

"That wasn't always the case," Sabal says. "We did what we could, when we could. Offered food and shelter after army raids, or comfort to survivors. But we weren't always able to protect them. Priority had to be given to our supporters and their families. The rest... They came second. And there was a lot of collateral damage; a great many lives were lost that we might have saved, had they chosen to throw in their lot with us. United, we would have been stronger."

"But not everyone saw it that way."

"No," Sabal agrees. "And still, they never hesitated to come to us when it was too late. Demanding vengeance for lost family members, that kind of thing; you met a fair few of those, didn't you?" He shakes his head. "Always on the lookout for someone else to solve their problems. And now they want us to reclaim their farms as well, without lifting a finger to help. Well, they can wait. We have other priorities. When we do get around to distributing land, their allotment will reflect their contribution to the cause. Does that answer your question, brother?"

"It does, thanks," Ajay says. It really does; he catches the edge of disgust, dismissal in Sabal's tone, and his instincts offer up pity in response. Pity for those poor, frightened people who just wanted to get on with their lives in peace. Run their farms, care for their animals, feed themselves and their families. They never asked to be a part of the war. Expecting them all to fight is...not fair. And punishing them for not doing so isn't exactly the way he'd have chosen to handle things. Too vindictive. Spiteful, even. Chances are it'll have consequences down the line.

Sabal is waiting for something more, and Ajay can't bring himself to continue the discussion. They'd fight about it. He's seen enough hurt in the eyes of people around him for one day.

"I think you're doing what's...fair," he says. "I guess I just feel a little bad for those people who'll lose their farms. Even if they didn't help us."

"That's because you're too soft-hearted for your own good," Sabal tells him. He lifts a hand, like he’s considering reaching over the seat and touching Ajay. Squeezing his shoulder, or maybe ruffling his hair, if they're not doing boundaries this week. But the angle's all wrong; he drops the hand with a shrug and turns back to face the windshield. "Don't lose sleep over it, Ajay; you did what you could for them, and it was more help than I could spare. Take pride in that and don't worry about the rest. Those people made their choices. Now they have to live with the outcome, same as the rest of us."

 _How do you sleep at night?_ Ajay wonders, but doesn't voice. It's not the first time the thought's come up. Won't be the last. And compared to some of the things he's seen since their "victory", uneven land distribution seems almost tame. _Guess we all have to live with the outcomes of our choices. Even if they're not what we were expecting. Not how we imagined things would go._

"How about you?" he asks before he can think better of it. "You happy with your outcome?"

Sabal doesn't turn to look at him again. "Could have been a lot worse, all things considered. I'll admit, circumstances aren't all...exactly how I would have chosen them to be. But I suspect we're in agreement on that. Which makes twice in one day; we're approaching a record."

Ajay glances over at Karishma in the seat next to him, hunched with her head bowed over her map and notes, apparently deaf to the conversation. Doesn't bother looking at the man in the driver's seat. By now all of Sabal's closest people know things are rocky between him and Ajay. They're past the point of hiding it. Still, he'd rather it didn't become common knowledge for every single person who ever gets stuck working with them.

"Yeah, well," he says more quietly. "Maybe it's a sign of things to come."

"I'm praying for it, brother."

 _So start actually listening to me,_ Ajay thinks, but it's not fair of him. He believes, with all his heart, that he's right. And Sabal feels the same about his own opinions. Neither of them is doing any listening, and it's not fair to make this all the other man's fault. They're both coming at arguments from different perspectives, different backgrounds, and that's not including the secrets they're no doubt keeping from each other. He needs to remember that Sabal makes choices through a lens of experiences Ajay can't begin to imagine. A lifetime of war, of fighting just to see another dawn.

He wonders what would happen if he leant forward and wrapped his arms around Sabal's shoulders from behind. Hugged him and told him...what? That things will get better? That it'll get easier? That they'll both wake up one morning magically knowing how to fix this canyon that's opened up between them? Melt the ice; replant the burnt, ashen greenery?

It's not that simple.

Ajay leans back against the seat and closes his eyes. Banapur is at least another hour away; he'd rather spend the trip in silence than risk another conversation. Seems like they're all lined with landmines, now, and he's not feeling limber enough to avoid them.

The vehicle jolts unevenly, creaking with age and abuse. Against all odds, Ajay sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Chapter title comes from [this song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zr5mtKSbd7M) Disclaimer: I tend to pick chapter titles from whatever I happen to be listening to when I realise I have to name the damn thing. Don't stress too much about the songs being appropriate; they're not. I just suck at titles.  
> 2.[Lovely, canonical evidence](http://soundsofkyrat.tumblr.com/post/122848980126/he-couldnt-slaughter-a-chicken-for-dinner-now) that Sabal was the opposite of a violent child.  
> 3\. As ever, thank you _so_ much to the people leaving comments/kudos (or even both! O.O) I'm blown away by the response to this story, and I'll do my utmost to keep the quality up to scratch and the updates as regular as possible. Thank you for the support.


	7. In Mountains that are Stacked With Fear

“No,” they tell him when he asks. “The Tarun Matara won’t have time to speak with you today. Perhaps you could try again tomorrow.”

“I’m leaving at dawn. Does she know?”

“She will not see you. Another time, the living goddess may decide the omens are favourable for a meeting.”

Ajay doesn’t argue it this time. Two days at Chal Jama Monastery have taught him several new things; the food is always good, the priests will try anything to keep him out of meetings, and Bhadra doesn’t want to see him.

Tomorrow they leave for Utkarsh. Despite best efforts to delay a trip north until Sabal could bring the south to heel and feel safe in leaving it unmonitored for a few weeks, waiting just isn’t an option anymore. They lost Shikharpur Outpost to Royal Army stragglers four days ago. By now the stolen territory’s been retaken, but the attack itself came as a shock that claimed several Golden Path lives and left the area’s troops shaken.

If reports are to be believed, the biggest problem they face up north isn’t actually the remnants of Pagan’s army. Support is patchy, resistance strong, and the worst of it comes from the locals. They believed the propaganda; they loved their king. Now many of them see blue and gold on the streets of their towns, and treat it as an invasion.

Ajay wades through the pilgrims occupying Chal Jama Monastery’s inner hall. Business is booming; some of these people have waited days for a chance to lay their offerings at Bhadra’s feet. They see him, recognise him, come over to introduce themselves.

_Son of Mohan-_

_Ghale, you saved us-_

_You fulfilled your father’s dream, he must be so proud of you-_

Even Sabal at his worst wasn’t as bad as these pilgrims for throwing Mohan Ghale’s name in his face. Or maybe he just didn’t notice it as much, before. Now the name comes with an echo that wears a baby girl’s frozen features. These days, his heritage is jagged, biting.

Ajay ducks behind a pillar to avoid someone calling for him. After two days, he’s getting pretty good at finding places to hide when he needs the peace and quiet. Places the visitors aren’t allowed, or just don’t want to go.

The Yalung statue leers in its empty room, candles throwing savage shadows over its teeth and eyes. The base of the stone is stained a permanent red; the incense outside isn’t quite enough to mask the smell of death. No one prays to the goat demon. Or if they do, they know better than to come to the monastery for it.

Ajay stares up at the statue, the inhuman snarl, and wonders when the last sacrifice was. They say Yalung will wake if he’s not appeased with blood- but Kyrat is starving, and sacrificial goats are few and far between. Does he accept human blood in lieu of livestock? If that’s the case, the Arena alone will keep him asleep for centuries to come.

He’s in a shitty mood; he admits it. This visit was supposed to be his chance at patching things over with Bhadra. At the very least, he’d wanted to check on her, see she’s being treated alright.

_The Tarun Matara doesn’t want to see you. Try coming back another time, with suitable offerings._

_Sure,_ Ajay thinks savagely. _And in the meantime I’ll just leave her here alone for people to stare at, and hope someone decides to let her have a few books. Maybe a friend or two. There’s no way she can be happy here. What would Amita have done?_

The door behind him creaks as someone enters, clicking closed again behind them. Not a priest; they come in here at set times, to fuss over the candles and make sure the demon statue is the way they left it. Pilgrims wouldn’t dare enter. Bhadra doesn’t want to see him. Which leaves…

“You’re in the wrong place for prayer, brother.” Ajay turns to Sabal, offering him a tentative smile. Nothing too warm. He doesn’t know where they stand right now, if they’re friends today or not. Doesn’t know if he’s fucking up just by being in this room, alone with the candles and the stained, demonic statue. Maybe it’s not allowed. Maybe the priests sent Sabal to _educate_ _him_.

Folding his arms across his chest, Ajay shrugs. “I don’t pray. Just wanted some peace and quiet for a few minutes, and there are pilgrims everywhere.”

“You have your own room here.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Too far?” Sabal comes to stand next to him, eyeing the statue without expression. There’s none of the wariness in him that Ajay’s seen from pilgrims. The regent doesn’t need to fear Yalung. “Or too many people in the way?”

“Maybe I just hate this place,” Ajay says flatly. “Every time I’m here, something bad happens. Can’t help but feel like this visit is going to be the same as the rest, or worse, if I’m _really_ lucky. Maybe I just needed a few minutes away from that.”

He hates the resentment in his voice. The bitterness that started creeping in months ago and never really left. The _defeat_. The exhaustion that no amount of sleep seems to cure.

“Most people find solace in visiting the monastery,” Sabal says.

“Sorry to rain on your parade.”

“Ajay.”

“Don’t be a jerk on holy ground, I know. I’ll work on that.” He looks up at the Yalung statue, the flickering menace of its candle-lit snarl. Easier to face right now than the man at his side. He doesn’t want to know what he’d find if he looked at Sabal instead; stone anger stings less than real.

The silence builds, seconds mounting, and then Sabal speaks. “Before you turn in for the night, you should go see the Tarun Matara. You won’t have time in the morning.”

“I don’t think she’ll talk to me,” Ajay says. “I haven’t seen her since…yeah. She must’ve been pretty upset about what happened.”

“She’s asking for you,” Sabal says quietly. Ajay turns, throws him an incredulous look. “It’s true. I just saw her; she was angry, it’s true, but that’s finished now. She wants to set things straight between you, if you have time to visit.”

“Seriously? Just like that? After… Wow. Guess she’s forgiven me,” Ajay says. Relief hits so hard it leaves him light-headed. “I was so scared she wouldn’t, like maybe she’d just never get over it. Did you say something to her?”

Sabal shrugs. He throws a tense grimace in the direction of the closed door, and lowers his voice. “Look, just… It’s better if we don’t discuss it too much. I pushed a few boundaries back there. Lying to the Tarun Matara isn’t generally considered the luckiest thing to do. Or the wisest.”

“You did _what_?”

“It was upsetting you,” Sabal snaps. “And partly my fault to begin with. I should have found a way to keep you out of what amounts to a private matter; instead it seems all the blame’s fallen on your shoulders. That’s not right. And I don’t like seeing you suffer over this.”

“What did you say to her?” Ajay presses. “Come on, I really need to know.”

Sabal sighs. “That you had nothing to do with telling me about the plans for… Her marriage. You never broke her trust, and never would have; one of the priests let something slip and I worked it out for myself. It didn’t take much convincing. I think she was happy to accept any other explanation.”

“Yeah, but it’s not exactly true,” Ajay says. "I _did_ tell you.”

“She doesn’t need to know that.”

“What happened to the Tarun Matara being omniscient? Or is that just when it’s convenient for you not to tell her stuff?”

This time, Sabal’s sigh is impatient. “Look, Ajay, if you’d rather I’d kept my mouth shut, then I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I did it for the sake of seeing you smile a little more; a harmless lie with good intentions behind it. The gods will forgive me. Though the Tarun Matara herself hasn’t; you’re back in her good books, and I’m further from grace than I ever was.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I wanted to do this for you.”

“And I really appreciate it,” Ajay says. He stands awkward for a moment, hesitant. Some kind of response is needed here. He _wants_ to give one. Sabal may be ignoring the wider implications of the fact that he just lied to a living goddess for the sake of _seeing Ajay smile more,_ but Ajay’s not blind. It’s kind of a big deal. He can’t even begin to work out what it means to him.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’m- I didn’t expect you to fix this for me.”

“You were hurting,” Sabal tells him quietly. “And for once there was something I could do about it. I know a lot of things haven’t been exactly easy for you recently-“

“I think that goes both ways,” Ajay says. “Feels like things were a lot easier while we were still at war, huh?”

“It does. I just can’t work out _why;_ was it something I did? Pagan is gone, his troops are in hiding, Kyrat is free again, and the problems are worse than ever. Have the gods turned their backs on us completely? The number of holy sites Pagan had desecrated, I shouldn’t be surprised. Maybe if I’d deployed more troops to defend them…”

Sabal trails off, his jaw gone tight with tension. He’ll leave any second; it’s in the slump of his shoulders, the way he glares at the wall behind Ajay, like he can reshape it into something better through sheer willpower alone.

Without warning, Ajay finds himself flooded with a need for contact. He aches. Inside his ribcage, where no amount of bitter local medicines can reach. This time, it’s all on him.

Sabal doesn’t step away when Ajay moves into his space, lays a hand on each of his shoulders and squeezes.

“You did your best,” he says firmly. “I know that’s a little hard to believe right now. I know that. And it sucks. But you kind of have to accept that you can’t fix things overnight. Pagan was here for…what, over twenty years? The things he did aren’t going away any time soon. But we have to believe we’re going to make it, because if we give up now then he might as well still be running the show.”

The fervency in his own voice surprises him. Equally surprising is the fact that Sabal hasn’t decked him yet for pushing the boundaries too far. Nobody says this stuff to him. The regent doesn’t just stand there and accept a reality check from a guy ten years younger than him.

Only, he does. He looks at Ajay with tired green eyes, and doesn’t move.

“I had so many dreams,” he says quietly. “All these plans for what I’d do with the country once it was mine. The problems I’d fix. I was going to bring the light of Kyra back into people’s hearts, and with it restore some of our lost heritage. Those plans were the only way I survived the war. They kept me hopeful. Made me strong, while other soldiers broke all around me. I had goals. Just try to imagine how it feels to fail so…badly.”

“You didn’t fail.”

“There’s enough blood on my hands to drown half the country, brother. If this isn’t failure then I don’t want to know what is.”

Ajay squeezes his shoulders again, but it’s just not enough.

“Can I hug you?” he asks. “Is that allowed here? Because I really, really want to right now. And it kind of looks like you need it.”

“Don’t pity me, Ajay,” Sabal says. He ruins it somewhat by wrapping his arms loosely around Ajay’s waist. “That’s not something I ever want from you.”

“No pity. Got it.” Ajay’s arms go around Sabal’s shoulders, crossed over behind his neck. It brings them in close; Ajay’s attention drifts to little details. The scars, the odd shape to his once-broken nose. The dart of his eyes over Ajay’s face that says he’s doing the exact same thing.

They never really get a chance to just look at each other. Too many people around, too much to do in too little time, and they can barely manage a private conversation without being interrupted. It’s understandable; Ajay tries not to be too bitter about it. But he’ll admit that he resents it, to himself at least. He knows almost nothing about Sabal. Not really. His past, his interests outside of warfare and religion. He has hundreds, thousands of questions he wants to ask, and no chance to do so.

“Hey, Sabal?”

“Mhm?”

“Could we, uh…” Ajay searches for a tactful turn of phrase, and comes up blank as usual. “I don’t know, maybe when we’re back at Banapur, could we take a break from everything? Just for an evening, just the two of us? We never really do that.”

Sabal strokes his back; his fingers trace the shape of Ajay’s spine. “In what context?”

“Uh…”

“Are we colleagues? Friends?” His lips twitch. “Is this a date, brother? I’d like to be sure before I get my hopes up.”

Ajay grins at him, sudden happiness welling up and making him reckless. “Yeah, I’m asking you out on a date. Why? Is that not allowed? Because I’m gonna do it anyway, and I kind of feel like you’re gonna let me.”

“I’ll do more than let you.” Sabal ducks his head, pressing a kiss to Ajay’s shoulder through his jacket. “I’ll accept. Next time we’re back in Banapur, I’m all yours. For an evening…or however long you want me. That’s up to you.”

“Sure is,” Ajay says. He feels Sabal’s arms tighten against his back, and lets himself be pulled closer. Chests pressed together; he rests his chin against Sabal’s shoulder. Breathes him in. Heat and sweat and gunpowder; he can’t remember a time when Sabal hasn’t carried the scent of war on his skin. That’s something they’ll have to change. Might take some time, maybe a lot of time- but he knew that already. He’s in this for the long run. And he’s very, very patient.

“Do I need to apologise to the gods or something?” he mumbles into Sabal’s jacket. “Like… Light a candle and tell them I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my hands off the regent?” He’s actually half serious about it; Sabal’s answering laugh sends warmth through his insides.

“Not this one, brother,” he says. “He’s hard to wake. And if we do manage it, there’s nothing to do but offer a live sacrifice to pacify him.”

“Mm. Might be worth it.”

“I’ll risk it if you will.”

Of course, it can’t last forever. Sabal steps away first, reluctance plain on his face and in the way his hands linger on Ajay’s ribs before he removes them completely.

“You should go see the Tarun Matara,” he says. “We’re leaving at dawn and I know she wants to talk to you. Best not to keep a goddess waiting.”

“Thanks,” Ajay says again. “I’ll see if I can get her to forgive you. Or at least pretend she does. You’ve got way too much to worry about right now.”

“Glad to have you on my side, brother,” Sabal says. “For as long as we can make it last this time.” He pauses by the Yalung statue and bows his head, lips moving soundlessly. Ajay leaves him to it. He makes a point of turning his back on the statue; this isn’t _his_ demon. It’s still something of a surprise to find that, even after De Pleur’s torture and Yuma’s Durgesh and Noore’s public massacres, people are still afraid of a stone goat-man. From what he’s seen, Yalung is the least of their worries.

Finding Bhadra is easy enough; he asks the first priest he sees, and gets himself an escort right to her door. “The Tarun Matara is expecting you,” the man tells him, but all Ajay hears is, _we don’t want you wandering around unsupervised_. He hides a smile and wonders if Achal’s pessimism is starting to rub off on him.

She’s not alone this time. There are priests, well-dressed women; the former pray, and the latter occupy themselves with gathering up the piles of offerings stacked up in a half-moon around Bhadra’s lacquered throne. Fruits, sweets, flowers, incense. Bhadra herself sits ignored in the middle of all the activity, her eyes darting everywhere, her head held carefully still. She’s better at it than she was last time. The change is not an easy one to see.

Ajay weaves his way through people who throw him startled looks, glares, and move reluctantly out of his way. He’s half way across the dim, smoke-choked room when Bhadra sees him; her lips move for a moment before she forces them still again. Ajay doesn’t stop until he’s standing at her side. Closer than he should be, clearly, but nobody seems inclined to stop him. He’d love to see them try.

“You should kneel,” Bhadra whispers out of the corner of her mouth. “Then they’ll leave you alone.”

“Got it.”

He does as he’s told, settling down onto his knees on Bhadra’s right. The incense in the air irritates him; he clears his throat, trying to hold in a cough. “Guess we’re not going to get much time to talk, huh.”

“No,” she tells him, her lips barely moving. “They’ll prepare me for the day’s final prayers soon, once all the pilgrims go to bed.”

“You ever get to sleep?”

“Not much. There’s work to do and not enough daylight to get it all done in. I don’t mind.”

“That can’t be good for you.”

“I don’t mind,” she repeats. “I’m honoured to serve Kyrat in any way I can.”

“This isn’t right,” Ajay says quietly. “Are you going to school? How about friends, do they let you spend time with people your own age?”

“I’ve asked them. I ask every day, whenever I can. I even…” she hesitates, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I even prayed to Banashur, asking if he’d intercede for me. I know I shouldn’t have. He’s busy looking after our people, he doesn’t have time for me to be ungrateful. I think that’s why he ignored my request.”

Ajay looks away from her ill-concealed misery. Watches the women cleaning up the day’s offerings instead; he wonders what will happen to it all. Huge bunches of bananas, piles of sugarcane stems, apples. Will they be given to the pilgrims? Donated to starving villages? He’s not sure he wants to ask; he doubts it’ll make a difference if he does. This is something he knows without being told that he has no power to change. Not on his own.

“I’ll talk to Sabal about schooling for you,” he says. “It…might take a while to sink in though. He gets a little weird about the religion thing. Kind of stubborn.”

“I think he’s always been like that. About everything. It used to make Amita so angry, how he’d never back down once he’d made up his mind. But I always thought he was brave not to let anything change him. He’s strong. He protects his people; it’s part of why I was hoping…” She trails off, and Ajay holds in a grimace.

“I hear the marriage got called off?” he says carefully. “I don’t know the details.”

For the first time since he arrived, Bhadra turns her head to look at him. “Ajay, I’m so sorry. I thought it was you who stopped it; I knew you didn’t approve. I was angry-“

“Hey, you don’t have to apologise. I understand completely.”

“I thought, if I married him, he’d look out for me. Not just as Tarun Matara. Maybe he’d remember how I liked helping cook for the soldiers, how good I was at lessons. Maybe he’d let some of my friends visit me. But I guess that’s not going to happen; he doesn’t want me.”

“That’s…not the problem here,” Ajay says. “Just putting aside the fact that he’s way too old for you- yeah, I know, _cultural differences_ , let’s not get into that. Aren’t you both kinda busy for getting married right now? There’s a lot going on.”

“I heard Sabal decided to keep the poppy fields as they are. I don’t understand why.” Bhadra bites her lip. “Nobody really tells me anything here. Maybe they think I already know. But Kyra and Banashur don’t have anything to say about poppies. I did try asking.”

“That’s basically all we have right now. Trust me, nobody’s happy with this decision. But we either keep selling those, or Kyrat is ruined. Lot of people are going to die. This is the only thing we could do.”

“See,” Bhadra says, “This is why I hoped Amita and Sabal could find a way to work together. Head and heart. Amita had the plans, and she wasn’t scared to take risks, but Sabal was the one who really cared about his people. If he wasn’t out fighting with them, he was training with them, or joining them for prayers. With him and Amita, maybe things would have turned out okay. Only, now it’s all gone wrong.” Behind her makeup, she looks exhausted. “The priests won’t tell me much about what’s happening in Shanath Arena, but I think I know. It’s like Jalendu Temple all over again, isn’t it? Only much worse.”

It’s a nasty surprise to find Bhadra aware of these things. The heroin, the executions; a stark reminder that she’s seen atrocities in her life he can’t even begin to imagine. He shouldn’t be surprised. The first time they really talked was at a mass funeral.

“Sabal’s a little different these days,” Ajay says. “Not like how he was. Or maybe he always _was_ like this, and I never noticed.”

“Are you scared, Ajay?”

He looks up to find Bhadra watching him with anxious eyes. In her lap, her hands are clenched.

It’s easier to lie to her, knowing Sabal did it first.

“No, I’m… I’m not scared. Just getting used to all the changes. And I don’t like what’s going on in the Arena, but that’s temporary, you know? It’s going to stop. People want revenge for all the things that happened to them and their families, and that’s what they’re getting.”

“For how long?”

“Ask the regent.”

“He wouldn’t tell me,” Bhadra says bitterly. “I’m supposed to be the living goddess. He’s _my_ regent, isn’t he? He should be passing my decisions along to the people of Kyrat. But he talks to Raju instead of me, and when he _does_ stop by to talk he doesn’t even tell me how things are in Banapur. Just asks me to stop ignoring you, and then leaves again.” She kicks her heel against the base of her throne, earning her disapproving looks from her closest attendants.

 _I need to get you out of here, and soon,_ Ajay thinks. _Dammit. Who decided it was a good idea to keep you locked up in a cage? This is just crazy._

“Listen, Bhadra. I’m gonna try get some things changed for you, okay?” He waits until she looks him in the eye again before continuing. “I mean it. I’ll push for you to get lessons, people your own age to hang out with. Time to just be _you_. Pretty sure the gods can deal with a part-time Tarun Matara, and the priests can handle people when you’re not in. You can’t help anyone if you’re not getting educated, or making friends.”

“Good luck telling that to Raju.”

“It’s not Raju I’m going to talk to,” Ajay says. He wishes he felt as confident about it as he sounds. “Sabal can change things. I’ll make him understand that he has to.”

“I guess.” Bhadra watches her attendants clear away the last of the offerings, returning with brooms to sweep the floor at her feet clean. They’ll be moving her soon. Taking her away to wherever it is she goes when she’s not on display, and Ajay can’t be sure of when they’ll get a chance to talk again. God, everything’s such a mess.

“Sorry,” Bhadra says at last. “I was ignoring you before, and I’m doing it again. You’re just trying to help. You’re the _only_ one trying to. I wish there was more I could do. I wish I wasn’t afraid all the time. I wasn’t before; I don’t know why. So many people were dying, I never had time to be afraid. Too much to do. But now nobody will tell me anything, and Sabal is hurting people, and I don’t know _why-_ “

“They hurt him first,” Ajay says heavily. “That’s…pretty much it. He thinks revenge is going to balance out the scales.”

“It won’t. I don’t need the gods to tell me that. Something terrible is going to happen if this doesn’t stop.”

“Yeah, well, I’m trying my best. He doesn’t always listen to me.”

“That’s still more than he listens to anyone else,” Bhadra says. “You’re Mohan’s son. I guess he respects what you stand for, what your name means to people. We believe in you. You’re the one who saved us.”

“Yeah?” Ajay says. “Even you? You left the choice up to me, remember. You still think I was the right person to decide who should be leading Kyrat? Because I’m not always sure.”

“Too late for that,” Bhadra says softly. She lifts her chin slightly, a warning for Ajay and a greeting to the priest approaching her. “We’re here now. We just have to make the best of it, I guess. That’s what the gods want us to do.”

The priest stops a few respectful steps away. “Tarun Matara, it’s time for the evening prayer. If you’ll come with us now?”

The tone is not a request. “I’ll just be leaving then,” Ajay says. He stands and lifts a hand to Bhadra in farewell. “Probably won’t get a chance to see you before we go tomorrow. Sorry. But I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.”

She’s back in living goddess mode, doll-like and unresponsive. Staring off at the opposite wall until Ajay gives up on waiting for a reply and turns away. It’s unnerving to see her this way. Like seeing someone pull the plug on all her sparkle, letting it drain away until all that’s left is a gilded, breathing statue. She’s learning her new role quickly; more quickly than he’s comfortable with.

 _Be back soon,_ Ajay promises her silently, even as he flees the room.

“She shouldn’t be treated like that,” he says a day later; back on the road, this time in an open, armoured truck. Sabal is on his left, one arm hooked over the railing, staring off into the passing trees. They crossed the King’s Bridge an hour ago. He’s been restless ever since.

Too bad. Ajay presses his knee against the other man’s in a bid to get his attention back where it’s needed. “She used to be crazy busy, I was always seeing her all over Banapur. Now all she’s allowed to do is sit there while people beg for help. That’s…inhumane. Can’t we do something? Get her some tutors maybe?”

On Sabal’s other side, a soldier sneers at him “Outsider. You want to come here and change our sacred customs, things you don’t understand and won’t even _try_ to, because they don’t appeal to you? Trying to civilise the savages with your American superiority?”

“I didn’t-“

“This is how things have always been done,” the man interrupts. “The Tarun Matara must be kept separate from the filth of the world; she alone speaks directly to the gods, and passes on our pleas and offerings. She’s too sacred to be bothered by…what was it? Tutors? Teachers? You want to take our living goddess and turn her into an ordinary woman. Next you’ll be suggesting she cooks and cleans around the monastery.” He snorts with laughter, and Ajay bites down on a bitter retort.

“That’s not what he said, Rajesh.” Sabal doesn’t look away from the passing landscape, but his tone is all iron, disinclined to allow argument. “And he’s not likely to understand our customs any better if you taunt him for ignorance. It’s not our way. We teach with patience, with understanding. _That’s_ how things have always been done.”

 _Yeah,_ Ajay thinks, petty triumph flaring up, goading him into offering Rajesh a vicious smile. Of all the people they had to pick up along the way, it was him. The only indicator Sabal gives that he’s not sure he can handle the Utkarsh situation alone.

“So on the subject of teaching,” he says in what he hopes is a reasonable tone, “Bhadra needs lessons. Tutors. She can’t help people if she doesn’t understand anything about the world they live in-”

“The _Tarun Matara_ knows all things,” Rajesh hisses. “You, on the other hand, can’t even seem to remember her true name.”

Ajay ignores him, as he’s been doing ever since they stopped at Shanath Arena to pick the man up. “She’s bored, unhappy. She wants to do more than just listen, but that’s all anyone’s letting her do. If you leave her like that…” Inspiration strikes, and god, it’s cruel, but he has a feeling Bhadra would forgive him if it got her what she wanted. “She’ll find other stuff to keep herself entertained. And you’ve already seen that. The wedding thing. That was…awkward.”

“One way of putting it,” Sabal mutters. He doesn’t look away from the passing countryside, but at least he’s listening.

“What wedding thing?” Rajesh asks. “Sabal? What have I missed?”

“Relax, it’s sorted,” Ajay tells him. “We don’t need you to go _make_ anyone cooperate. It was just a- a sign that we need to do something. Bhadra’s too smart to just be locked up for the rest of her life. She needs an education, from proper teachers.”

“And she’ll get it.” Finally, Sabal turns away from the view and focuses on the conversation. He raises a hand to silence Rajesh’s protest. “I agree, she doesn’t cope with boredom. And keeping her shut away from the reality of how things are in Kyrat was never an option. I’d hoped she might be patient a little longer, before she enlisted _you_ to plead her case for her,” and he throws Ajay a wry look, more amused than irritated. “But you’re not going to quit until you win this, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Didn’t think so. Look, Ajay, you realise this isn’t going to make me popular with a lot of people. The conservative side takes tradition even more seriously than I do, and I need their support. This won’t be easy.”

“It shouldn’t be happening at all,” Rajesh says sharply. “It never would have before. What’s happened to you, Sabal? All those years you spent fighting for a return to our traditions, to the _right_ way of doing things, do they count for nothing? Can’t you see what’s happening here?”

“Enlisting tutors for the Tarun Matara? It’s not the end of the world. If it keeps her happy and cooperative, then I’m willing to deal with the consequences.”

“I’m not talking about that,” Rajesh retorts. “I mean _him._ ” He points for emphasis, but it’s really not necessary.

“Okay, I haven’t seen you in about a month,” Ajay says. “There’s no way I managed to piss you off long-distance. And if you had a problem before, you should have said something.”

Rajesh is a hard man to read, and the eyes under his golden bandana are blank, polished black stones. “I did. Just not to you.”

“And _I_ told you to stay out of it,” Sabal snaps. “I told you Ajay would be an asset, and he has been. I told you that just having him around would be enough to turn the tide- and it was. You’re running out of arguments, and I’m running out of patience to hear them. Ajay has my complete trust. Don’t you think it’s time he had yours too?”

 _Some hope of that,_ Ajay thinks. Judging by the look on Rajesh’s face, he agrees. He stands, slinging his rifle over one shoulder, ignoring the way the truck rocks under his feet.

“I won’t fight you on this, Sabal,” he says. “Not anymore. I’ve said enough. All I can do now is beg you to think it through. He’s going to ruin you. Maybe he’s already started, if you really mean to let him dictate how the Tarun Matara lives. What else is he going to change? He doesn’t _understand_ our ways. And you wouldn’t be listening to him if you weren’t blinded. This boy is not our saviour. He might just be our second downfall. Think about it.” Rajesh turns away, picking his way over to the other side of the roof and settling in between a couple of soldiers there. He doesn’t look their way again.

“He’s an asshole,” Ajay remarks. “Wow. Has he always been like that, or…?”

Sabal shakes his head. “He is what he is. It’s funny; we used to be of the same mind in almost everything, whatever the situation. I relied on him. Still do. But things have changed since,” and he pauses. It’s a rare moment of tact; he doesn’t tend to shy away from outright saying what he means.

“Since I got here,” Ajay guesses. “It’s fine, you can say it. I showed up, and I wasn’t my father. Not really. Do I even look like him? People were always saying how much I resembled Mom, so I guess that doesn’t leave much room for _him._ ”

“I’m not calling you a disappointment, Ajay.”

“I know. Sorry.”

They go quiet. Ajay tilts his head back, squinting up into the sky, a cloudless, clear blue. Mountains at the edge of his vision, an absence of skyscrapers seems to make the world go on forever. He knows that they’ll have to introduce technology to the countryside eventually. Power lines and proper roads, pollution in the Himalayan air. However much protest the conservative side puts up, eventually Kyrat will modernise. And that’s a good thing; he’d kill for decent cell phone service, a reliable internet connection. Roads that aren’t a health hazard to drive down.

Still. He knows all that will come at a cost. The price of the future will always be a portion of the past; he can’t help but hope they can delay paying that for just a little longer.

Beside him, Sabal shifts, moving his rifle to a more comfortable position across his knees.

“Your mother was in the same position, wasn’t she?” he asks.

Ajay raises his eyebrows. “Sorry, what?”

“She was the Tarun Matara, at least until she left Kyrat. She would have been given some limited education, it’s true; how to run a household, that sort of thing. That much is permitted if a Tarun Matara expects to marry. But if she was intelligent…”

“She never talked about it,” Ajay says. “But yeah, she’d have gone nuts if she didn’t have anything to do. Lucky my Dad never tried keeping her shut up in a monastery, she’d probably have blown it up. Sounds like she wanted to be fighting on the front lines with all the other soldiers. He wouldn’t let her.”

“She was his wife,” Sabal replies. “He was entitled to make that choice.” He winces at the look on Ajay’s face. “I’m not saying I agree with the decision, brother. Kyrat’s women have fought as fiercely as its men, and that’s to their credit.”

“And don’t you let anyone forget that.”

“I don’t plan to.”

“Great,” Ajay says. “Just so we’re clear. What does this have to do with Mom again? You’ve never mentioned her before.”

“I never knew her,” Sabal tells him. “Which I regret. All I heard were the stories Mohan told, and I’m…open to the idea that there might have been some bias to those. As it is, I just wondered if she was the reason for your interest in Bhadra. Your mother’s successor; it’s good of you to take her under your wing. She’s lucky to have someone so strong protecting her.”

It’s not something Ajay’s ever really thought about; his reasons for trying to keep Bhadra safe. Maybe he started doing it because _someone_ had to. Because it was the right thing to do. Because out of everyone here, she’s the one he trusts to always tell things to him straight. These days, he protects her because she’s practically family.

“Sure,” he says slowly. “I guess that’s why.”

Because there’s something to her bright, lost eyes, and the trust he finds in them. In her belief that Ajay is nothing less than a good man. That’s a powerful faith. He falls into the role of her protector, her guide, because that’s where they both know he needs to be.

Ajay smiles. “I don’t know. Maybe I was just always meant to be someone’s big brother.”

Up ahead, the hills part like seas, and Utkarsh grows out of the distant haze. They’re here.

The first thing Ajay sees are the children. Running around outside the remnants of Utkarsh’s stone walls, ignoring the charred trees and blasted hillside. He catches his breath for a moment; he can’t remember the last time he saw so many, so carefree. Even in Banapur, the children are wary. Miniature adults. Taking safety drills when they should be out playing.

Happy or not, they still pause their game when the vehicles approach, lining one side of the road, like little ducklings. Little soldiers. They watch and talk amongst themselves, and maybe half of it is English. _Who are they_ and _why are they here?_

They’re all too thin, like Banapur’s children. Ajay turns away before his heart can ache for them.

“They don’t seem worried,” he starts to say; the words die on his lips when he sees the expressions on the faces of people around him. Every eye fixed on the children, and nobody’s smiling. Sabal is frozen in something like horror.

“What’s the problem?” Ajay asks. “They’re…kids. That’s good, right?”

Rajesh snorts. “He can’t even tell. You can’t, can you? You don’t know what your own people look like.”

“Uh-“

“They’re not full Kyrati, most of them,” another soldier says. “Half, maybe. Or less. Kyra, why are there so many of them?”

“Pagan’s soldiers were more welcome here,” Sabal says quietly. “The northern people, they’re…softer. So few of them ever joined the Golden Path.”

“Too busy spreading their legs for the invaders,” Rajesh snarls. “Did they forget who it was that took their country from them? Or maybe they fell so far that their own Kyrati men wouldn’t have them. That might be true. There must still be some of the faithful alive here.”

One of the children calls something incomprehensible up at them. Ajay takes in the winces around him, the hisses; it can’t have been Hindi. Wasn’t English, either, which leaves…

“And they speak the tongue of the invaders,” Rajesh says. “It’s lucky we came. The north is polluted, and needs cleansing. We have to remove the stain of Pagan’s transgressions.”

It’s a poor start to the mission; things only go downhill from there.

They’re met at what used to be the gates of Utkarsh. A man comes out to meet them, introducing himself as mayor. He’s backed up by a group of people he calls his officials.

“All of them approved by the king,” he says anxiously. “The _old_ king, I mean. Of course, if you want to make any changes, we’re happy to hear your proposals and talk them through. Things are very different here in the north. More…structured than you might be used to. Regent.”

“Structured?” Sabal asks him. The tone is mild, silky-murderous. “That’s interesting. Would you like to elaborate on what you mean by that?”

“King Min provided us with an ordered society, for which we are very grateful. Many of us mourn his loss as a personal tragedy.”

Ajay raises his eyebrows. Looks like whoever was sent to sort things out here is either taking their time about it, or just a lot more patient than Sabal. He tries to imagine someone saying this kind of thing back home in the streets of Banapur. The thought is…not a good one.

“Hold up,” he says, before Sabal shoots the man where he stands. “A tragedy? I get that you didn’t see some of the stuff that was happening down south, but still. Wasn’t he conscripting people? And taxing all your food? Didn’t you ever have executions? He blocked off half the country, you can’t tell me you thought that was a good thing.”

The mayor turns to frown at him. Someone leans forward to whisper in his ear, and recognition blooms. “Ajay Ghale! Good to have you back here, friend, we’re very grateful for what you did during the artillery strikes. You saved many lives.”

“Which I wouldn’t have had to _do_ if Pagan hadn’t ordered your town bombed.”

“He had no choice,” the mayor says. “The King’s Bridge had fallen, the terrorists- the _rebels_ were flooding the north, taking outposts and endangering us all. Who will protect us from those dangerous wild animals now? They’re very savage in this area, we needed those outposts. King Min always provided soldiers for our safety.”

“He exaggerated the risk,” Sabal says flatly. “And you never thought to question his propaganda.”

Ajay turns towards him, lowering his voice. “It was everywhere, Sabal. On their radios, in the streets, what were they supposed to do? Pagan made it sound like he had all the answers. They didn’t know any different.” _Please don’t shoot this guy in front of half the town,_ he doesn’t say. _In front of all these kids._

“We don’t mean to be…inhospitable,” the mayor says. Over his shoulder, a few of his people throw him incredulous looks. “You’re in charge now, and King Min is dead. We understand that. But many people here are confused about the changes, the policies you’re implementing. The Royal Army, for one; you’ve been rounding all the soldiers up and taking them south. Where are they going? Many of them have families here, they’re all worried, missing their husbands or fathers.”

“They go to answer for their crimes.” Rajesh worms his way up through the soldiers at Sabal’s back, until he can stand at the regent’s left. “For the sins they committed against the gods, and the people of Kyrat. For all the innocents they murdered.”

The mayor shakes his head. “Not here. No, we never had trouble with the Army, not at all. You have to bring those men back. They’re citizens, they belong in Utkarsh, and the community is suffering without them to help with the repairs.”

“Too late,” someone mutters behind Ajay.

“The Golden Path can help you with repairs,” he says to drown them out. “That’s why we’re here, we want to help.” He regrets it; too many eyes turn his way, too many whispers of _Ghale_ and _Mohan_. For once, not all of them sound friendly.

The mayor at least makes an effort to smile, though the expression doesn’t touch his eyes. “So you say. Well, perhaps you’d like to see Utkarsh, as it now stands? We can discuss the repairs we need, and maybe you can explain a little about your intentions for Kyrat. We have questions for you.”

“I have a few of my own,” Sabal replies. “Fine. Show me the damage Pagan’s artillery caused. I take it you won’t mind if I bring some of my soldiers in with me? They’re more experienced in this kind of thing than I am.”

“Of course,” says someone behind the mayor. “You can kill people and tear families apart, but you don’t know how to fix anything afterwards.”

“You’ll have to forgive us,” the mayor says. “These last few months have been very difficult for everyone. As you’d know. Will you come this way?”

They tour the ruins. The mayor is chatty, provides a constant stream of commentary, thinly veiled blame, honest questions. The people of Utkarsh are confused, he says. No doubt the rest of the north is the same. Under Pagan’s rule, good men never needed to worry. Hard work was rewarded; loyalty was deserved. He says it all, and believes it. Even the bombing in Utkarsh gets excused in his eyes.

Ajay walks close behind the man and Sabal. He can’t quite find a reason to place himself between them; his skin itches with the foresight of violence impending.

Funnily enough, he’s not sure which side will strike first. The Golden Path have guns, and they watch Utkarsh’s citizens with wariness, disappointment. The citizens look right back with undisguised hostility. The children have been ushered out of sight.

“Will you be resuming the annual poacher hunts?” the mayor asks. “They were a highlight in these parts, and the next one is due in two months. Our archers have been training all year.”

“Poacher hunts?” Sabal asks.

“We don’t have access to Shanath Arena in these parts. King Min, in his kindness, came up with other sources of entertainment for his citizens. You southerners had your wild animals fights; we have our poacher hunts. It’s quite an occasion, and the Army always provides suitable criminals for the day. I hope you’ll consider reinstituting it. The people of Utkarsh are eager to fulfil their civic duty.”

“Doubtful,” Sabal says darkly. “I’d heard rumours, but…no. You’ll have to look for another way to _fulfil your civic duty._ I could offer a few suggestions if you find yourselves at a loss.”

They reach the end of the tour back at the non-existent main gates; a group of Golden Path soldiers are waiting there, restless, toying with weapons. A man in blue steps forward to meet them.

“Hasan, leader of the area’s troops,” he says by way of introduction. “I’m glad to see you came, Sabal; have you read my report?”

“I have,” Sabal tells him. “It’s why I’m here. Things aren’t what I’d expected them to be.”

“We’re set in our ways, in these parts,” the mayor says comfortably. If he started out intimidated by Sabal, he seems to have lost it at some point during the tour of his domain, damaged though it is. “And many people here lost loved ones during your attacks, or to your arrests. We humbly request that your give our soldiers back…regent. Or their bodies, so their families can dispose of the remains in the proper way. We also need resources to help with the rebuilding-“

“You have them already,” Hasan tells him. “As I’ve told you before, we gave you all that we could spare. We have a whole country to think of, not just the one city.”

“Utkarsh is more than a city, soldier. It’s a symbol. We stand for what Kyrat could be, given proper leadership; we _must_ rebuild, to give people hope that we still have a future. And until that happens, I’m afraid I can’t promise you a warm welcome here. There are people who….resent your occupation. We lost a lot to your war.”

“ _Our_ war?” Sabal starts. Next to him, Hasan shakes his head. _It’s pointless_ , he doesn’t say, but the meaning is clear. Sabal bites down on whatever else he was going to say. “Looks like I should have come sooner. There’s a lot here that needs fixing.”

“Tomorrow,” the mayor says. “It’s getting late here, and we all have work to do before the sun sets. Come back tomorrow and we’ll discuss Utkarsh’s requirements. The symbol of Kyrat’s future can’t afford to remain a ruin. It doesn’t send a good message.”

 _Wow_ , Ajay thinks. He doesn’t dare show an opinion either way; a part of him wants to applaud. It’s nice to see people who’ll stand up to Sabal at his most domineering, with armed soldiers outside the city and their apparently beloved king overthrown. That takes guts. It’s more than he’s seen from a lot of people in the south.

They move to a safe house, in the end. Hasan warns against trying to camp near Utkarsh, and the mayor doesn’t offer anything more comfortable. Inside the city, dozens of eyes watch them with a flammable mix of rage and resentment. They don’t say anything; they don’t need to. Ajay spots guns held at sides, civilians with weapons they may or may not know how to use, but clearly want to try out.

He shivers, and follows gladly when Sabal gives the order to move out. The city scares him. He’d be happy not to come back again.

Tents are set up outside a run-down old safe house in the middle of a forest. Ajay moves to help out, and finds himself pushed towards the house instead, Sabal holding the door open for him as he approaches.

“You’re with me, Ajay,” he says curtly. “We’re not exactly safe here, and I want you out of the direct firing line. We can’t afford to lose you to a traitor’s bullet.”

“You think someone might try an attack?” Ajay dumps his rucksack next to Sabal’s, on the floor by the only bed. His bones creak when he stretches.

“I can’t rule it out. Hasan says there have been…threats, unrest among civilians. They’re angry about the arrests of Pagan’s Royal Army soldiers; apparently, a lot of them _settled down_ here. Married local women, started families. As if they weren’t the enemy.”

“Things look a lot different in the south, huh?” Ajay settles down on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. He’s jittery, not as tired as he should be. The hostility in Utkarsh is something he doesn’t know what to do about.

They were _helping_. Pagan needed to go, and both Amita and Sabal agreed on that. Hell, Pagan himself agreed. But it’s hard to know how to explain that to people who really believed in the dream he pretended still mattered to him.

Sabal seems to share his restlessness; he paces the narrow safe house, his movements sharp, irritable. “I can’t understand it,” he says. “They must have seen the atrocities Pagan was committing, there’s no way they could have avoided it. At the very least there would have been rumours! Our supporters here wouldn’t have let ignorance fester and grow, not somewhere so important.”

Ajay sits forward a little, resting his elbows on his knees. “Who was running the Golden Path up here? Aside from…” he hesitates. Uncertain of whether Rabi’s current _persona non grata_ status means they’re not allowed to talk about his folks either.

Sabal resolves the issue for him. “The Rana family headed up the resistance here; you saw what happened to _them_.”

“Yeah, I saw. Literally.”

“Their eldest nephew is still around, but there was a limit to what he could do without his uncle. I sent him further north to help settle some of the outposts. But in his absence…” Sabal shakes his head. “I should have come here weeks ago. I just never realised the extent of the damage Pagan managed with his propaganda. These people genuinely believe I’m their enemy, at _best_. At worst they assume I’m a replacement for him. As if I’d ever want to be anything like that monster.”

It seems a poor time to bring up the Arena executions, among other things. Ajay bites down on a response he knows won’t be welcome.

“So we need to show them otherwise,” he says. “And yeah, that’ll take time. How long was Pagan in power? Something like twenty-five years? Some of these people grew up with him as king, they’re not just going to change how they think overnight. You have to be patient.”

“ _Patient_ ,” Sabal hisses. “As if I didn’t spend those years watching my people die around me. Rebuilding a rebellion out of nothing. I used up a lifetime’s worth of patience overthrowing the tyrant; I don’t have any left to spare for ignorant idiots who think he was their saviour.”

“Come on. You have got to be tired, it’s been a crazy day.” Ajay pats the bedspread at his side, an invitation. “We can handle these jerks in the morning. Just…get some sleep, okay? We’ll work something out when you’re not too tired to think straight.” He wonders, not for the first time, how they’re going to make this work out. Cramped safe house bed, cool night. He’ll sleep on the floor if Sabal wants space, but that’s never been an issue before. Doesn’t seem like it will be now. And he wouldn’t mind sharing.

“’Work something out.’ You make it sound so easy,” Sabal says. He’s stopped pacing, at least. Stopped in front of a thangka painting on one of the walls; the Tarun Matara in her make-up and robes. Looks new. Someone’s been celebrating Bhadra’s new job.

“We can talk to these people. Show them we just want to help, maybe ask them what they’d need to be able to trust us. They’re not soldiers, they don’t want to fight. They’re just scared.”

“And then there’s the children,” Sabal says, as if he didn’t hear. “I…wasn’t prepared for that. A few, maybe; we have them in the south. A few. Their mothers raped by Royal Army soldiers, too soft-hearted to just smother the results. But this…”

“Holy _shit,”_ Ajay says, horrified. “Please tell me I didn’t just hear you say that. _Jesus,_ Sabal, you can’t- they’re kids, none of this is their fault. What the hell?”

Sabal grimaces. “I’m not blaming them, personally. The damage is done. What I don’t know how to deal with is how many there are here. And if the mayor is right, most of them are completely legitimate. Kyrati women marrying the oppressor. Willingly, even; starting families. What am I supposed to _do_ with that?”

“I don’t know, maybe you could try accepting that people aren’t that simple? Things were different here. They didn’t have the City of Pain, or the Arena. Durgesh Prison is up in the mountains, most people never saw it. They were just living their lives. These things happen.”

“They shouldn’t.”

“No, you’re absolutely right,” Ajay says, forcing humour into his tone. “It’s…completely impossible that anyone here ever met a total foreigner, who sounded funny and probably looked kinda lost, and decided to bring him home. Even when he walked into a tree because he was looking at the scenery. That just never happens. You’d definitely be above that.”

“It’s different,” Sabal insists. “You didn’t show up armed and take over this country.”

“Maybe some of these guys were just doing their jobs and going home to their families at the end of the day. You don’t know how it was up north. Pagan wanted Utkarsh to be his ideal city, right? I don’t think that would have included his most trigger-happy soldiers.”

“I don’t understand you, “ Sabal says, shaking his head. He turns to face Ajay, squaring his shoulders.

Ajay curses inwardly. Land mines in conversations, and it’s looking like he just stepped on one. “Okay, look, how about we just drop this-“

“No,” Sabal says flatly. “You’re not backing out of this, brother, not until I get an answer from you. Do you even understand what the issue is here? What those children represent? They’re an _invasion._ A wound. A walking reminder of what was done to us by Pagan and his pets, and as long as they’re around… How can we move on? Hm? How do we leave the war behind us when it’s everywhere we look?”

“You could start by accepting that things aren’t ever going to be the same as they were before Pagan? Tradition is great, okay, I’m all for that. And…culture, and protecting your religion, that’s awesome. But some things are gonna change. They have to.”

“I’m surprised to find there’s _anything_ you don’t want altered,” Sabal says.

“What?”

“You, with your expectations, the changes you ask me to make. You come from a different place and expect me to turn Kyrat into something you find more familiar-“

“I have _never_ ,” Ajay says, “Asked you to do that. When have I said that I wanted Kyrat to be more like the States, huh? When did I say that?”

The look Sabal gives him is loaded with scorn. “Every time you find something that isn’t to your liking, brother. Oh, you don’t say it in as many words; you don’t have to. The implication is always there- you’re _disturbed_ by how we do things here, you find our customs strange, backwards, and you can’t understand why we don’t immediately switch to doing things the way you think a _civilised_ country should. Well, you’re in the wrong place for idealism. Pagan took it from us, along with the last, sad remnants of our mercy.”

“And you think that’s a good enough excuse to hurt kids? Pagan made you do it? That’s what you’re going for? I’m just going to ignore the rest of that, because it’s…crazy. I’ve never thought like that.” Ajay clenches his fists on his knees. It would be far too easy to stand up and take a swing, but he’s _not_ like that. He’s not. And he won’t let anyone _make_ him into that, however much they might fucking deserve it right now.

“Prove it,” Sabal tells him. Whether intentionally or not, it comes out like an order. “Stop fighting me on everything; trust me to know what’s best for this country, at least until you’ve been here long enough to understand how things work.”

Ajay twitches. “It’s funny, you spent all that time pushing the whole _son of Mohan_ angle. And now suddenly I have no idea how anything _works_ here, and I should just keep my mouth shut? Convenient.”

“You think I’m wrong?”

“I think this is pretty much the same thing those poor kids are going to spend their lives dealing with,” Ajay retorts. “Feeling like sometimes they belong, and sometimes they don’t, and they don’t have any control over either side. Like they’re always on the outside of something. And they _know_ , in every inch of them, they know this is where they should be. But that’s not happening. This country doesn’t have much patience for people who aren’t already a part of it, you know? At the end of the day, all they’re left with is knowing they’re part of a war. That’s all they really have.”

It hurts to say, if not quite as much as watching rejection form on Sabal’s face. Knowing he doesn’t get it, and never will. Maybe he won’t even try.

“You think you’re the only one to feel that way?” Sabal asks, and Ajay doesn’t bothering replying. “Scrambling for an identity that doesn’t involve this fucking war, when it seems that everywhere you turn, that’s the only thing left? The only one to lose parents before you were ready? I have news for you, brother; you’re one among many. Pagan took my family when I was half your age. He did the same to countless others, not that any of it ever mattered to him. The people in this country were raised by grief, and warfare. _That’s_ what we know, and _that’s_ why we have to look to the past for our future. Anything else is tainted by what was done to us.”

“You don’t believe that,” Ajay says. He wants to stand up, maybe pace the room; doing so would mean invading Sabal’s space. Feels like putting himself further in the line of fire. He stays where he is. “Not completely. And I’m- I’m sorry about your parents, I am. I really-“ His voice breaks a little, but he keeps it together. “I’m sorry about what Pagan did, and I wish there was some way to undo that. But there’s not. Looking to the past won’t change what’s already been done. And you can preserve the good parts of your culture without also keeping the bad. You can…choose not to execute people who fought against you in the war, and to forgive people who were too scared to help the Golden Path. You can accept outside help; it’s not going to ruin Kyrat. Eventually you’ll have to, it’s just a matter of how many people die before you admit that you can’t do this on your own.”

“We _can_ do this,” Sabal snarls. “If we can remove the outside influences poisoning us-“

Finally, Ajay stands. “You are _not_ _killing children_ ,” he annunciates. “If you were thinking straight, you wouldn’t even consider it. This isn’t you, Sabal. It’s _not_. And if you’re looking for outside influences to remove, then you can fucking start with me, because I’m not from here. And you made it pretty clear before that you think I’m as much of an outsider as those kids you want to get rid of.”

“You’re not- Ajay, you belong here. Your father-“

“And you can stop talking about my father,” Ajay tells him. He feels light-headed; he burns with rage. “I am the same as those children. To you they don’t look right, they don’t talk right – well neither do I. And if you want to make Kyrat _pure_ , like Rajesh suggested, then I guess I won’t be able to stop you, because I’ll be the first one getting dragged into the Arena. Again. You know, because it happened before, and I fought my way out for you. Because I believed in you.”

He breathes quickly, shoulders rising and falling, tensed like a cornered leopard. A few feet away, Sabal is the same. They watch each other. Waiting for someone to draw the first blood.

“You’ll never go back into the Arena,” Sabal says. His hands are by his side, fists clenched. He has a gun at his hip. But then, so does Ajay. Both are loaded; if that’s where things are headed, then the fight will be a short, messy one. “Why do you think I told the guards not to let you in, when we stopped by to set up the trials?”

“I don’t know,” Ajay says. “You never _told_ me.”

“What you went through in Shanath Arena was unforgivable. I didn’t want you to ever have to see those sands again.”

“But you’ll throw other people in there? And stop changing the subject, I want to hear you say that you’ll leave the kids alone. Because it feels like that’s the only way to be sure, with you. Making you say something. You’re really good at ignoring stuff you don’t like, you know?”

“I wonder,” Sabal says, “Is that better or worse than ignoring the context behind things _you_ don’t like? Demanding solutions that aren’t always reasonable? Acting as if you have the moral high ground, when you’ve killed as many as the Arena has? Just a thought.”

Ajay stares at him. Rage still bubbles just below the surface, threatening to burst out into violence, but now it has competition. Hurt, horror. He can’t believe any of the things either of them is saying. And still, he can’t seem to stop. “I did that to make things better. For you, and your vision of Kyrat. And that turned out just _perfect_ , didn’t it? Bhadra’s locked up in a monastery, you’re enslaving Pagan’s soldiers, the ones you’re not just _murdering_ , and we’re confiscating land from people just because they cared more about their families than getting involved in a fight they had no idea if they could win. You know the war’s over, right? You can stop treating everyone like your enemy?”

For a moment, Sabal doesn’t say anything. He closes his eyes; Ajay watches him and wonders if this is a surrender. If he said the right things. Doesn’t feel like it. Doesn’t seem like any of it should be enough to defeat Sabal, who never seems to back down from direct confrontation. He certainly never surrendered to Amita.

“I’m not going to kill the children,” Sabal says. He opens his eyes; something cold, unpleasant, looks out from inside the vivid green. “I’ll have soldiers look into their situations; if the household is a happy one, I’ll see what I can do to return the fathers. It will take time. It will also make me enemies among people whose support I’m relying on right now.”

“It’s the right thing to do,” Ajay says. He sounds a lot less certain than he means to.

“You’re very concerned with that. The _right thing._ It’s noble of you, brother; I can see why you’re so popular with people.”

“It helps that I don’t line them up and execute them,” Ajay says. “I don’t know if you noticed, but that’s not a good way to make friends.”

“And you’d know all about that. The people of Utkarsh like you, as much as they like anyone who isn’t Pagan. From what I hear, the rest of the north is pretty much the same. You’re widely known. Well-liked. In years of fighting for this country’s freedom, I never managed what you did in the space of months.”

“Uh,” Ajay says. He feels unbalanced, unsure of where he stands anymore. Sabal is still, oddly calm. But every nerve in his body screams, _avalanche incoming. Take cover_. “Okay, sure. I helped a few people out. Shut down that annoying propaganda, tore down some posters. You were pretty happy about it at that time.” _First time I heard you laugh was after I reclaimed a belltower for you,_ he thinks, and then shoves the thought aside. It has no place here. He’s not sure it even matters anymore.

“I was happy,” Sabal agrees. His mouth twists, a bitter parody of a smile. “And what about you? Were you happy?”

“Yeah, because I wanted to _help_ -“ Ajay starts, but Sabal talks right over him.

“You ran around the country, doing every errand Amita and I could throw at you. Taking every risk, without a thought to your own safety- you’ve made yourself quite the people’s hero. Overthrowing fortresses, beating Pagan’s generals, not to mention the man himself. And then you come straight back to heel like a well-trained dog-”

“ _Excuse me?”_

“And you just settle for second best?” Sabal pauses, shoulders heaving under his jacket. Ajay doesn’t say anything. He’s not sure what he _would_ say, if he could even get the words out. Sabal’s meaning is starting to sink in, but he can’t believe it, can’t wrap his head around the fact that it’s come to this. It never should have. They were supposed to be better than this.

Goaded on by Ajay’s silence, Sabal steps in close. “What game are you playing, hm, brother? Do I need to start watching my back around you? Or maybe not; gods know you’ve made enough friends that you wouldn’t need to raise a finger yourself. So tell me. Is that where we’re headed? Are you waiting for me to screw over my power base just enough that people _cheer_ when you take over? Well?”

 _This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening._ Ajay stares hard at Sabal’s frozen expression, looking for any trace of the man he saw after Durgesh, who prayed for his safety and swore to watch his back.

“This isn’t you,” he says through gritted teeth. “You don’t- you’ve never felt this way. If you were thinking straight you’d remember that I only ever supported one person, and you’d _know_ the last thing I’d want is to be in charge of anything. I fucking _suck_ at leadership. You had to _rescue_ me from an angry farmer, just because I couldn’t tell him to go fuck himself without you there, and you think- you actually think I want _your_ job? No way. This isn’t you talking to me right now.”

He sees Sabal hesitate, and knows he’s hit the money. “Yeah, I figured. Bet I can guess who’s been screwing your head up too; you need better friends. _I_ should be one of them. But I’m not, and _that_ is on you.”

“It’s more of a team effort, I’d say,” Sabal retorts, but he’s on the defensive already. Enough that Ajay gives in to anger, lifts his hands to Sabal’s shoulders and shoves him as hard as he can.

Sabal stumbles back a few steps. “ _Ajay-_ “

“Fuck you,” Ajay says clearly. “You don’t trust me, and all I’ve ever done is try help you. You’re hurting people, _killing_ them, pushing them all away because you just can’t get your head around the idea of a Kyrat without something oppressing it. You talk about…tradition, and giving people back their identity, but as far as I’ve seen, the only identity _you_ have is war. Whatever. You do what you have to. I’m going to go find somewhere I can make a difference; I should have been doing that from the start.”

His rucksack lies on the floor where he never got to unpack it; he grabs one of the straps, slinging it over one shoulder. Makes for the door, and then pauses.

“I’ll be around if you need me,” he says without turning. “If you decide you’re ready to start trusting me. Because I- I _really_ need you to do that. It’s the only way I’ll ever believe you’re actually serious about what you want us to be.”

If Sabal replies, Ajay doesn’t hear him. He’s out the door in seconds, letting it slam behind him and darting past the Golden Path soldiers setting up tents outside, who no doubt heard every word and want answers. Too fucking bad. Sabal can explain what went down. Why he no longer has a second in command to back him up in volatile Utkarsh.

He stops by the vehicles to retrieve his weapons from where he left them; sniper rifle, grenade launcher, ammunition. The woods are dark but the moon is full, and he’s spent months trekking up and down this country recently. He knows his way. And… _Kyra_ help any leopards that try jump him tonight. He’d almost welcome the chance to gun them down.

Checking the stars to get his bearings, Ajay squares his shoulders, and makes for the north.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. This chapter's thoroughly irrelevant title source is [here!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MtyBBoOUgho)  
> 2\. [Annual poacher hunts](http://soundsofkyrat.tumblr.com/post/124741950476/help-us-preserve-the-wildlife-of-kyrat-only-pagan), oh my! (Is anyone else a bit scared of Pagan because I know I am).  
> 3\. I'm so sorry this chapter ended up late! Going to try make the next one happen sooner, given how this one ends. To everyone still reading (thank you for those amazing comments, you people keep me up writing long past my bedtime), I can promise you a long, rough road- but the destination will be worth it.


	8. Dreams

Three weeks to the day after Utkarsh is brought to heel (unsteady, the peace accords wavering like the new blue/gold flags the city flies with unconcealed shame), a tunnel collapses in the old KEO Svargiya Mine. Five miners are trapped, and digging them out takes a full day and a half. Ajay joins the rescue team. He’s there when they break through the fallen rock to find their miners alive, though shaken.

He’s there when the men start babbling about their discovery: gold.

He’s there when the seam is confirmed to exist, and go deep, where somehow the KEO contractors missed it. It’s theirs by right; the soldiers he’s spent weeks working with touch the filthy walls and thank Kyra for her kindness. The gold is food, is resources and medical supplies, schoolbooks for children.

 _Shit,_ Ajay thinks, as he picks his way up through the tunnel and out into sunlight. _Guess that means I have to go back south._

The commander of the area’s troops meets him outside. “Is it true?” Radhika asks. “They found gold?”

“Yeah. Looks like KEO never saw this seam, or that’s what they’re saying.”

“Thank the _gods_ ,” she says, her weathered face creasing into a smile. “And all the miners alive, too? Good. _Good._ I don’t care if they’re classed as expendable, those men work under me. And _gold_.” She laughs; she does that a lot, and it’s made her a popular leader, even among the northerners. Easy-going, protective of her soldiers. It’s most of the reason Ajay’s stayed in her camp. She laughs, and she sounds not unlike Ishwari.

“You want to go tell everyone?” They move off the main path as the miners emerge, leaning on their Golden Path guards for support. “And someone needs to give those guys a few days off, they earnt it.”

“They’ll get that, and more,” Radhika agrees. “I’ll make sure their families know they’re alright. See if I can’t find them a bonus of some kind. It won’t be much, but as things are…”

 _Can’t pay out for slave labour,_ Ajay thinks. Under a different commander, the miners (ex-Royal Army, wearing their regulation red bandanas) would be sent right back into the mines before they had time to dust themselves off. Under the current government, they don’t count as people. Not Kyrati, not anything else either. He feels a connection of sorts with these men. They’re not the only ones who can’t go home.

“It should be you telling people,” Radhika says amiably. She watches the rescued miners with her usual half smile, though it’s Ajay she’s talking to. “Lieutenant-General. You outrank me by a long way.”

“I told you weeks ago, it doesn’t matter. I’m just here to help.”

“And you’ve made a difference in these parts. I’m grateful; we all are. But this is big news, and it should be you passing it along to Banapur. Sir.”

“You do it,” Ajay tells her. “Tell the regent we’ve got some good news for him. He’ll like that.”

“He’d like to hear it from you, I think. He asks after you every time.”

“So you keep telling me.”

“Whatever you did,” she says, and this time she looks at him. “You’d be forgiven, in exchange for this kind of news. He’d welcome you back. I know you want to be in the south; you hide it well, but not well enough.”

“Wrong way around; I never did anything,” Ajay tells her. They follow the miners, heading down the path back to camp. “You take the credit, I don’t care. I’m not talking to him. I’m not…ready for that just yet. Keep me out of it. Please.”

“I don’t know what happened-”

“No,” Ajay says ruthlessly. “You don’t. Can we drop it now?”

Radhika gives him the flat, _are you fucking kidding me_ look he’s only ever seen her pull on people who really pushed her buttons the wrong way. The soldiers who tried to mistreat their ex-Royal Army miners. The few who tried to cause problems for Ajay, back when he first showed up out of nowhere one night and asked to stay for a bit. She doesn’t say anything; doesn’t have to. She leads the troops in this area; runs the mines, protects the locals. Crushed the remains of Pagan’s army in this sector within weeks of arriving here. Nobody else would ever talk to her like that. Nobody _should_.

“Sorry,” Ajay says, ashamed.

She shrugs. “I get it. Something went wrong with you two, now you’re sore about it. Hiding.” She looks over at him, her eyes suddenly sharp. “Unless he hurt you? That’s a whole other matter, if he did. Punishment for rape is death by Shanath Arena for Pagan’s soldiers; I’m not sure it should be any different for anyone else, whoever they are.”

Ajay freezes. “No, he- oh my _god,_ no! No, it’s… _not_ like that. We just argued. And it was bad, I mean, I kind of walked out on him, and I don’t regret that- but he definitely never hurt me.”

“And you won’t talk to him.”

“Yeah, because he won’t listen to me.”

“Shameful,” she says, though the expression on her face doesn’t change from mild interest. “Both of you. Bickering like children, when the country is suffering. There he is, trying to reunite north and south under one rule, one leader- and he can’t even keep his right hand man on his side.”

“Because he’s a jerk, and he won’t-“

“And _you,_ ” Radhika interrupts. “ _Try_ to remember that there are a lot of people looking to the both of you for guidance. For leadership. You showed up in my camp, a month ago, and I never said anything, even when you decided you wanted to run around the countryside doing chores and favours, instead of overseeing anything. Fair enough. We all need our space sometimes. But if you and Sabal are putting your problems before Kyrat, then that makes it _my_ problem too. I have a job to do here; I’m trying fix things, with the minimal loss of life. It’s not easy. And this isn’t helping.”

“It’s not my fault,” Ajay says, hurt. “Have you _seen_ some of the stuff he’s doing? It’s… _sick_. The Arena, the slaves, and I don’t even know what he’s been up to since I left.”

Radhika nods. “Because you never ask. Because if you _do_ ask, that means you have to take some responsibility for the role you should be playing, instead of just ignoring it all.” She lifts a hand when he goes to argue. “No. You accepted this job. You took the sacred kukri, and you made a promise. I made one too, by the way. No more deaths. That’s very important to me. It’s what I want from my country for the future. A good goal, and one you could be helping with. If you cared.”

There’s not much he can say to that. _You don’t get it_ , or _it’s not that simple_ ; both would be true, but he has a feeling they’d amount to nothing more than, _it’s just too hard_.

It is hard. He’s been keeping his head down for almost a month, helping out farmers, redirecting people to Radhika when they tried to ask him for orders. Hiding every time he found her on the radio to Banapur. She told him Sabal was asking after him; he knows where Ajay is, and has done pretty much since Ajay arrived. He asks to talk every time he calls; he’s stopped sounding too hopeful about the response.

It’s not that Ajay doesn’t want to talk. More like he’s terrified he’ll just end up making things worse. How many more times can they fight before Sabal stops caring at all?

“ _I_ care,” Ajay says. The road is dusty, leaf-strewn under his boots; he keeps his eyes on that, where he’s least likely to find himself judged for his inadequacy. For not being good enough to save this country, or even sort his own life out. “I just wish it didn’t hurt so much. I thought everything would be okay once Pagan was gone.”

“That was the dream,” Radhika agrees. “But deep down we all knew it was never going to be that simple.”

“ _There must be a cleansing for us to move forward,_ ” Ajay quotes bitterly.

“That’s one way. We could cleanse the country. Or re-sow the fields. Regrow the good things to cover the bad.” Radhika gestures towards the miners on the path ahead of them; the soldiers walking with them, supporting the ones who can’t walk on their own. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do here, and Sabal’s orders be damned. Forgiveness is the way to go. Cleansing is nice, for the moment, but nothing grows in a sterile land. Someone needs to point that out to him, don’t you think?”

Ajay sighs.

He supposes he shouldn’t be too surprised. He’s lucky he was allowed to stay this long up north without anyone questioning what the hell he was doing so far from the capital. He’s lucky Radhika didn’t insist on handing over control to him when he arrived and didn’t want it; he’s lucky Sabal didn’t get tired of the silence and send an armed escort to bring him back.

“Yeah, okay,” he says at last. “I’m heading back to Banapur. I’ll….see what I can do about the miners. Don’t get too hopeful though, I’m not sure he’ll listen. And I still think it should be you who tells him about the gold.”

“Fine,” Radhika says pleasantly. “We’ll miss having you around, of course; don’t think we won’t. But this isn’t where you need to be. You’re more useful down south.”

“Fighting with Sabal,” Ajay mutters.

She shrugs. “Someone has to. It’s not good for a man to think he has all the answers. Oh, I supported him over Amita; Sabal always valued individual lives more than she did, or at least the ones who worked for him. But it would be nice to see him extend that to _everyone_ , now he’s no longer fighting a war. Something you could see to, maybe.”

“Yeah, because that’ll work.”

“I’ll let the regent know you’re coming back,” Radhika says. “And that he should expect you in two days’ time.” She smiles; it’s an uncompromising expression, one without room for argument. For a frightening moment, she looks very much like Ishwari.

An hour later, Ajay leaves the mine encampment, his rucksack weighed down with supplies, reports, and a tiny, glittering pouch of flaky gold from the new KEO mine seam.

 _Come home safe,_ Sabal said over the radio. Though he had no way of knowing that Ajay was listening in to the call, his nails biting into the flesh of his palms. _We’ve missed you badly. You’re needed here, more than you know_.

The road to the south is perilous, even now, months after Pagan’s downfall. The ex-Royal Army escapees grow bolder by the day, and who can blame them- by now they’ve seen what happens to the ones who get caught. Still, whether by pure coincidence or uncharacteristic wisdom, Ajay is left alone. He gets lifts from people when he can, and walks when he has to. It’s not so bad. Kyrat is a relatively small country.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing; he’ll admit that to himself, at least. Doesn’t know what he’ll say when he’s back in Banapur, or even if he wants to stay there. He should. He’s needed; he knew that even without Sabal telling him. Someone has to be the voice of reason down south. Or, if not reason, the voice of human kindness.

Sometimes it feels like that might be the scarcest resource in the country.

There is a roadside shrine up a hill on the way. Ajay stops there to drink from a bottle of pre-boiled water and check out the lay of the land. He doesn’t know why he gravitates to the carved stone idol; Kyra’s face is long since worn down smooth by the elements. The larger shrines are better cared for, but it looks like nobody bothered with this one.

Too busy being dead, maybe. There are very few priests left alive in the north.

Ajay sinks down in front of the statue, crossing his legs under him. “You look like you could use the company,” he says. “Just don’t expect me to kneel, that’s not what’s happening here. I just want to talk.”

When he’s ready, he admits to himself that this has nothing to do with a statue, or Kyra, or any kind of slow religious awakening. It’s not a goddess he wants to talk to. Though, in a way, he supposes it is. Tarun Matara, and all that jazz.

“Hey, Mom,” he says, giving the statue a companionable pat. “How’s it going, wherever you are? I bet Banashur’s scared shitless of you already.” He pauses, winces. “Right. Language. Sorry, guess I’m picking up bad habits. I’ll work on that, maybe.”

She doesn’t answer, but the gentle mountain breeze is enough for him to fool himself into thinking that she does. That just this once, she’ll let it slide.

“Guess you’ve seen how things are in Kyrat these days. Was it this bad when you were living here? Is this the kind of victory my father wanted? Because I have this terrible feeling like I screwed up somewhere along the line, like maybe what’s happening now is all my fault. I think about leaving; pretty sure that’s not what you’d want. And, you know, I’m not sure I _can_. See, there’s this guy.”

For all the trouble he caused her in the past, all the screwing around and the nights he stayed out late, he never did bring anyone home to meet her. She asked him to. She was always hoping he’d find someone to calm him down, give him some kind of purpose. A direction in his life.

Well, he’s certainly got _that_.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Mom. I thought I did. But everything’s gone to sh- to hell, nobody’s happy, and I just…I _miss_ him?” He ashamed of how young he sounds, how helpless. He couldn’t even handle a month of separation; Ishwari upped and left her entire country, and never went back. Some days he’s glad she isn’t around to see that he’s just not as strong as she was.

“How did you do it?” he asks. “You just left Pagan behind, you never mentioned him or anything. He fell apart without you. I don’t know. Maybe I just suck at relationships.”

She’d hate Sabal, he suspects. Or rather, they’d hate each other, though he thinks Sabal at least would make an effort to hide the fact, for the sake of appearances if nothing else. Ishwari wouldn’t have bothered with the deception. She’d hate Mohan’s influence on Sabal’s goals, however infrequently his actual name comes up anymore. She’d find him too rigid, too stubborn, too arrogant, and she’d make sure he knew that.

 _Family get-togethers would have been a nightmare,_ Ajay thinks wryly. _But I’d still have tried for you, Mom. And I’d have made him try too. Maybe I should do that anyway._

One of these days he’ll stop thinking about calling her to tell her about his day. Stop hearing her voice in his head, finding her face in the faces of Kyrati women who share her smile. One of these days it’ll really sink in that she’s just not around anymore.

Until then, all he can do is deal.

He stands, brushing dirt off his jeans. “Good talking to you,” he says to the statue. “I’m gonna go find the regent now. See if I can’t sort us out. Because you know what, if you could start a family with freaking _Pagan Min,_ I’m pretty sure I can handle Sabal. You just watch me.”

She’d have hated Sabal so fucking much. Ajay turns away from the shrine, rucksack back on his shoulders, smirking as he heads down the hill to the road. It’s a bittersweet thought, but it amuses him; Ishwari chipping away at Sabal’s stone walls, right up until she lost patience and just bulldozed them down. Marched through the ruins until she could find him, shake him, and ask him what the _hell_ he thought he was doing to her son.

 _Ex-Tarun Matara,_ Ajay thinks, and feels his smile widen. Sabal would have had to just stand there and take it. Can’t be seen arguing with a living goddess. And even if he’d wanted to, she wouldn’t have let him.

It’s with Ishwari in mind that he takes a detour when he reaches the south, leaving the main road in favour of the forests, dodging bears and hunters. The Ghale homestead sits on its hillside, overlooking the valley; the view is wasted on Ajay, who barely ever visits. Place should have people around to appreciate it properly. A family, maybe. Children to play in the garden.

His heart sinks a little when he finds the house empty, silent. Outside, the tent that should have been there isn’t, and it’s only now that he realises he hasn’t seen his weird stoner neighbours since Pagan’s defeat. With Noore gone, they must have been free to leave. With Sabal in charge, they must have known it was just a matter of time before he sent soldiers to bring them in.

Ajay stands in the middle of the churned-up earth where Yogi and Reggie made camp, and wonders when they left. Why they never tried to say goodbye.

Maybe they thought he’d just hand them over to the judges in the Arena.

The homestead itself carries a sad layer of dust on every surface; the kitchen is cold, the bed made up and unused. The thangka sits complete where he left it. And finally, Ajay admits to himself that he’s never going to live here. It’s not his home. It _can’t_ be, now he knows its full history.

He spends a few minutes indulging in morbid curiosity, lifting cushions and rugs until he finds what he was looking for, upstairs in the bedroom. A stained section of the wooden floorboards, where no amount of scrubbing could remove the scar of Mohan Ghale’s blood.

 _I slept in this room,_ Ajay thinks distantly, staring down at the faded brown patch. _The room where Mom shot you. Sabal was praying for me a few feet away, and he never knew what was here. Shit. I’m kind of surprised I woke up at all._

He puts the rug back gingerly and leaves the house before it can really sink in. He doesn’t need that kind of bullshit invading his already-frequent nightmares. He never even knew the guy. He’s pretty sure he’s a lot better off that way.

 _Maybe someone else wants the homestead,_ he thinks, further down the road. _Do we need a hospital in the area? An orphanage? Could we tear it down and use the scraps for something else?_

He’ll ask Banhi, next time he sees her. If she forgives him the month-long absence, broken by the occasional phone call to check everything’s fine with her and the guys. She seemed to understand the situation, though he knows he never really managed to explain it. With luck, she’ll let him have his spare room back. Maybe he should bring her a _sorry I vanished on you_ present. Maybe she’d like a new chicken.

Right on cue, his phone buzzes in his pocket. Ajay answers it without checking the caller ID; for some reason he thinks it’s one of those ‘speak of the devil’ things. _How many chickens would it take before you believe I’m really sorry_ is on the tip of his tongue.

“I didn’t think you’d answer,” Sabal says. Even through the phone, he sounds shaken. “Is it actually you, Ajay?”

“Oh. Hey. Yeah, it’s me. Just didn’t check who was calling before I picked up.” He feels guilty as soon as he says it. Too far. This isn’t the way he wants to start things off between them.

“I see,” Sabal says. “Well, it’s not as if I can stop you from hanging up on me.”

“No, I- I’m not gonna do that.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Why’d you call?” Ajay asks, a little desperately. “Is there a problem? I’ll be back in Banapur tomorrow, if you need me to do anything.”

“Maybe I was just worried,” Sabal says. “The roads aren’t safe, you know that. And I can’t ask the district commander to keep an eye on you if you’re not actually in her district.”

“You know she didn’t tell you anything I didn’t want her to, right? She wasn’t…keeping an eye on me.”

“I’d have asked you directly, if you’d answered my calls.”

“I didn’t feel like talking.”

 _I miss you,_ Ajay thinks. And it’s true; Sabal’s voice makes him ache on the inside, makes him desperate to pick up the pace and get to Banapur _right now_ , because all of a sudden he can’t stand the distance anymore.

"Hey," he says into the silent radio. "You still there?"

"I am. Something wrong, brother?"

It's _fucked_ , this thin-ice tension between them. They circle each other like uncertain cats, tentative, scared one wrong move will start the next fight. They're better than this. "Are you free tomorrow night?" Ajay makes himself ask. It comes out rougher than he'd meant it to.

Sabal's tone is wary. "I don't have anything planned. Why? Did you want to meet?" _Is that really a good idea,_ he doesn't say, but he doesn't have to. Ajay hears him anyway.

He's sick of this.

"I was kind of hoping we could get really wasted together and pretend that fight didn't happen," he says, and while it's not the outcome he'd expected from this call, suddenly it seems like the best idea in the world. "If you can find the time. Because if Kyra doesn't need you, then I do."

There's a pause. "I'm free after eight," Sabal says slowly. "I'll be at home."

"Great. Cool. Uh, I can bring the alcohol. What are you into, anyway? Does anyone actually like Shangri Lager?" The joke falls as flat as Kyrat's beer of choice, but Sabal does him the courtesy of laughing anyway.

"Hard to be picky when you're at war. No, I think I can do a bit better than that. Don't worry about bringing anything."

"You sure? Because as far as I've seen, nobody here ever turns down raksi. And I'm not kidding about the 'getting wasted' part."

This time Sabal's laughter sounds less forced. "And in true Kyrati tradition, any man who shows up on my doorstep bearing raksi is a welcome sight. I'll see you later then, brother. It's good to have something to look forward to; I'm a little short on that kind of luxury these days."

"Yeah. I know the feeling."

He reaches Banapur the next day. There’s no one home at Banhi’s homestead, but the spare key is in its usual place, and Ajay lets himself in. Drops his bags in the bedroom that looks just the way he left it- aside from the note sitting on his pillow.

_Heard you’d be back today, welcome home! Hot water’s turned on if you want a shower, help yourself to whatever. We’re running deliveries for a few days. Neighbour will feed the animals, probably._

“Uh, _no,_ ” Ajay says. “I’ll do that.”

_Be home the day after tomorrow at the latest. Don’t party too hard without us, we love a good party, and also Banhi will skin you alive._

_-Pranav_

Predictably, the animals haven’t actually been fed. Must have been a pretty urgent delivery, if they were willing to risk asking the neighbour after that thing with their chickens. Ajay wonders if they’ve gone up north. Maybe gone to see about a delivery of gold from the KEO mine. Though maybe it’s too early for that yet.

Evening finds him in Banapur. Raksi under one arm, he gets stopped a few times by people he knows, asking him how he’s been, if he’s doing okay. No one asks _where_ , he notices. The town’s been a Golden Path base for so long that people have learnt not to bother asking questions they won’t get answers to. He’s grateful for that. Better still, they don’t seem to know about the fight. From the way they talk, it sounds like Sabal let everyone think he’d sent Ajay off on some top secret mission.

It’s kind, in a way. Saves Ajay the trouble of having to explain to everyone; he’s not sure he knows what he’d say.

_I don’t know what’s going on, sorry. We’re not okay. No, I don’t know if we can fix that. Sorry._

Sabal answers the door on his second knock.

He looks very much as he did last time they talked. A little more faded, tired; he may have lost weight. Ajay holds himself still on the doorstep and doesn’t just reach out and hug the man.

“I’ve missed you,” he blurts, when Sabal doesn’t seem to know what to say. It softens him a little. He smiles, though it’s guarded.

“Same here, brother. More than you know. Will you come in?” He steps back, and Ajay follows him inside.

Sabal’s home has always had something of a military feel to it. The crates of guns in one corner don’t help, any more than the boxes of ammunition, medical supplies. Even his kitchen is almost obsessively clean, tidy in a way that suggests he doesn’t use it much. He probably doesn’t; most of the Golden Path eat together.

“I’m not sure how much news you got up north,” Sabal says, fetching a few glasses out of a cupboard. “Did Radhika pass things on?”

“Yeah, she did.”

“I couldn’t say everything on an unsecured line. You should have called me from time to time.”

“Maybe.” Ajay accepts his glass of raksi, leaning on the bench. “Did you have work you wanted me to do? They needed me up north. Lot of Royal Army wandering around, chipping at the outposts. Things are a lot quieter now.”

“So I hear. You’ve made a lot of things easier up there, brother, thank you. People are more inclined to make peace with us. They trust your judgement.”

“That’s…probably not a great idea.”

“Isn’t it?” Sabal sips his raksi. “I know a lot of people who’d disagree with you. Bhadra for one.” He winces. “The _Tarun Matara_.”

Ajay looks up sharply. “How is she?”

“Fine,” Sabal tells him calmly. “Enjoying her lessons, or so I hear. I came to an agreement of sorts with Raju at the monastery. She meets with the pilgrims in the mornings; afternoons are reserved for lessons. No doubt there’ll be some resistance to that in time, once they think I’ve forgotten, but I made sure her tutors aren’t the kind to give in easily. Gods, some of those women scare _me_.”

“It’s good for you,” Ajay says. He doesn’t try to hide his sudden grin. “You can’t always have everything your way.”

“I’ll introduce you, next time we’re at the monastery. See how _you_ like it.”

“That would be great.” Ajay refills their glasses; they toast each other, and it’s only a little wary this time.

The raksi goes quickly, once they settle down to each other. Sabal swaps it out for whiskey; a good brand, and he shrugs when Ajay asks where it comes from. “I’ll tell you another time, maybe,” he says.

“I can’t tell if that means you shouldn’t have it, or if you’re just being a jerk,” Ajay says. “Both, maybe.” He takes his whiskey carefully, a little unsteady on his feet. It burns after the mild taste of the raksi, but he likes it. It’s familiar.

They avoid discussing their fight. Politics is safe; Sabal complains about the increasing demands from the priesthood, the power they’re trying to bleed off him. Ajay commiserates, a little. He remembers Sabal being perfectly happy with the holy team, back when they were making him regent.

He tells Sabal about the cave-in up north, about finding gold. About Radhika, the only district commander to have kept all her assigned “miners” alive. The rest are dying in frightening numbers; the Arena doesn’t even need to bother with executing them. Lingering rage takes care of the rest, when Golden Path officers don’t care enough to stop it.

Sabal mentions Bhadra, as he saw her a week ago. Happy, apparently. Brighter than she was. She does her homework and smuggles books under her robes to read in between pilgrims. Ajay makes a silent vow to go see her again as soon as he can; she didn’t deserve the month of silence, unlike some people.

Talk veers in random directions as they work their way through the whisky. They swap stories; he makes Sabal recount the Great Golden Path Football Riot, and laughs at it all over again. Swaps it for a story of the first time Ishwari took him rock climbing. Turns out it’s a lot funnier when shared.

“So what are you into, when you’re not busy killing Pagan’s soldiers?” Ajay asks at some point. “If you have time for anything else, I don’t know. Do you have…hobbies?”

Sabal shrugs. “That would imply free time. There’s not much around these days. Although,” he pauses, thoughtful. “I’m not sure if it counts.”

“I don’t know, probably. Pretty sure one of Amita’s hobbies was calling Rabi up on live radio and yelling at him.”

“I could understand the appeal,” Sabal says, smiling. “Alright then. Come and see.”

He leads the way through his home, climbing the ladder up to the second floor with more grace than Ajay can manage. Ajay passes up the glasses of whiskey, then follows.

He finds Sabal in the bedroom, standing by a bookshelf. Ajay blinks at it, surprised. Packed full to bursting with tattered spines, worn and faded covers. They’re not all in English; they’re also not prayer books.

“Holy shit, is that the Lord of the Rings?”

“Mhm.” Sabal reaches out, running a finger down the spine. “An old favourite.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wasn’t exactly the most attentive student at school,” Sabal says. “Especially not after…well, these things happen. I didn’t pay much attention. Left too early. The upshot was that when I joined Darpan’s smuggling party, my English was almost non-existent. He told me to fix that, or stay behind.” He smiles, his eyes distant. “I read everything I could get my hands on. Most got left behind on one trip or another, but I kept a few things. And he always finds something new to bring me.” The smile fades. “Found. Past tense. I keep forgetting.”

“I’m sorry,” Ajay says quietly. “That was my fault.”

“It was Pagan’s fault, Ajay. And De Pleur’s. Never yours.”

Sabal steps back, giving Ajay room to look at the bookshelf. He has a feeling this isn’t something many people are allowed to do; a secret Sabal doesn’t publicise. He keeps his guns downstairs in plain sight, but the books are up here, in a room Ajay is willing to bet not many people see. It’s too personal. There are no weapons here; just the books, the beautiful orange-red carpet under his feet, a small wooden box on one of the shelves.

There’s nothing to suggest religion in here, Ajay notices. Sabal has a shrine downstairs, in the main room, but up here he can’t even see any candles. There might be holy texts mixed in with the rest of the books, but he doesn’t see any he recognises.

He’s not too sure what to make of that.

“Help yourself to any that catch your eye,” Sabal says. He’s sprawled on the bed, his shoes kicked off. “Just…look after them, hm? They can’t be replaced.”

“Sure. Honestly, I’m not much of a reader. I mean, I’ve never actually read Lord of the Rings. Saw the movies though, they were great.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Oh my god, you’re one of _those_ nerds. I’m not surprised you don’t tell anyone.” Ajay approaches the bed, sitting on the edge and smiling down at Sabal. “Thanks for showing me.”

“I was happy to.” Sabal closes his eyes.

“Long day?” Ajay asks.

“Mm. More arguments. We have gold, now what do we do with it? What are our priorities? I’ve got people on all sides, demanding more temples, better roads, livestock imported from India…as if it was that easy. Darpan ran that side of things; has done for years. I can put together teams to cross the borders, but none of them will have all his contacts on the other side. Still, it has to be done. We need to buy in food for winter.”

“So we can sell heroin, but we don’t know where to go to buy livestock?” Ajay says. “Figures. How come nothing ever gets to be easy?”

"Days like this, I wonder if it's even worth trying. I ask myself what I'm doing. Why I bother. Kyra, but some days it's tempting to just drop everything and disappear in the night. Maybe try my luck on the border; I worked as a smuggler for years, before trying to reform the rebellion. Darpan and I, we had some stories. I could always do that again."

"Take me with you," Ajay says. "You can't leave me behind, that's not cool. Everyone would say I murdered you."

Sabal tilts his head and smiles. Alcohol lends an ease to his expression, smoothing out the lines and the tension. "Are you suggesting we run away together, brother? That's bold."

"Sure," Ajay says. "Let's just fucking elope already. Longinus can marry us, he'd love that. Or do you need a Kyra priest?"

"It's preferable." Sabal shrugs, a lazy roll of his shoulders. "Doesn't need to be in a temple. We could always hold one up at gunpoint, get married at a roadside shrine."

"Wow," Ajay says. "So you get drunk and start talking about holding priests up at _gunpoint_? That's..." he searches for the word, through the haze of liquor and sudden lust. "That's kind of awesome. We should do this more often. Next time we're at the monastery, I'm plying you with whiskey." He entertains a brief, beautiful fantasy of the look on Raju's face. "Awesome," he repeats.

"You're easily pleased."

"You make me happy." Only, that's...not quite true. Not all the time, and Ajay was raised to tell the truth by someone who scared him a lot more than Sabal ever has. "Mostly. Sometimes you don't. That really sucks, by the way. Wish you'd quit that."

"And _I_ wish for peace between us. But not at the cost of what needs to be done for this country. You know that. Why won't you listen?"

" _You_ fucking listen." Ajay reaches for the laces on his boots. He wrestles with them briefly before kicking both off and sprawling out across the bed. His head comes to rest next to Sabal's thigh. He thinks about pressing a kiss there, through the fabric of his pants. Decides that would be stupid and doesn't. Instead, he looks up at Sabal. "That got depressing fast. Don't we have, like, a truce or something?"

"We do. But you started it." Sabal shifts, nudging the side of Ajay's head with his thigh. "Choose a happier topic, hm?"

"Yeah. Yeah, okay. Tell me about how we're gonna run off together. Start a new life. Where would we live?"

"A house in the lowlands," Sabal says immediately. "Close to the border. We'll need several stories, and a sizeable basement for hiding goods until we're ready to move them north."

"Fuck, you're good at this," Ajay tells him. "Okay, so we build a house. How are you at DIY?"

"I'm not."

"Uh. Maybe we could find a place that's been abandoned. I've seen a lot of those, I figure people wouldn't mind. Pretty sure I can fix it up. And Longinus would help us get the business started." Ajay looks around for his whiskey, but the glass is both out of reach and empty. He settles back against Sabal's leg with a sigh. "So you'd be running the smuggling and I could do distribution? Mind the house when you're away, stuff like that. That'd be pretty cool."

"It's for the best. I know the mountains I'd be bringing goods in through, and you're closer to Longinus. He'd happily show you the ropes if you put up with his biblical prattle."

"Like I put up with your Kyra prattle?" Ajay asks lazily. "I'm getting pretty good at that."

"Heretic."

"You betcha." He moves his head obligingly so Sabal can lean over and put his empty glass on the bedside table next to Ajay's. Sabal settles back against the pillows, folding his legs. He beckons; Ajay moves until he can rest his head on Sabal's crossed ankles and smile up at him. "Hi there, mister smuggler husband. How you doing?"

"Making a lot of money and not having to worry about rebuilding a ruined country from rubble and barren farmland, hopefully" Sabal says wryly. He brings his hands down to Ajay's hair, resting them on his scalp. Rubbing gentle circles with his thumbs. "And what about you, _husband_? Are you happy with our new life? It's a far cry from what you had in America, I'm sure."

"It's not so bad. I like the peace and quiet."

"You're not lonely? I might be gone for weeks at a time."

Ajay closes his eyes as Sabal kneads at his skull, strokes his hair with reverent fingers. "Oh yeah, that feels good, do that again. Um. No, I'd be okay. I'm selling our stuff, I guess I see a lot of people like that. And maybe we have a few animals or something. Wait, we _so_ do. I want a puppy. One of the fluffy ones people have on farms here. I don't know, are they a kind of sheepdog?"

"You don't even know what they're called."

"Nope. But you're gonna tell me, right? We’re _married._ " He tilts his head back against Sabal's ankles, until they can look each other in the eye. There's a softness to Sabal's expression that he hasn't seen in the longest time. Not since before he was made regent. Not since that...encounter after Durgesh.

"Bhote Kukur," Sabal tells him, stroking his hair. "A good choice; they're loyal animals, you could take it with you when you went to make deals with strangers. I'd worry less if you weren't alone."

"Hell yeah. I'm gonna go around selling guns to people with a puppy chasing me. Oh wait, you know what would be better than a puppy? Two puppies. We should have two puppies."

"A little excessive for humble gun runners, don't you think?"

"Well sure," Ajay says, smiling up at him a little blearily. "But what happens when it gets cold in winter? Who else is gonna keep me warm while you're away? Maybe I'll end up in bed with farmer Sajit from down the valley. That would suck."

Sabal laughs. He leans forward until he can brush his lips against Ajay's forehead. "Anything to keep you from the clutches of that bastard Sajit. I pray to Kyra regularly that his crops fail and he's left destitute; I see how he looks at you."

"Oh my god, you're such an asshole. Leave Sajit alone, he gives me free jars of that amazing achaar he makes with his family's secret recipe."

"An excuse to invite you over."

"He's single, lonely...he just wants someone to talk to. And he has all these great stories, about," Ajay pauses, trying to think. "Goats, probably," he admits. "But hey, they're still pretty great. He has some cool goats."

"My war stories aren't enough for you?" Sabal tugs on a handful of Ajay's hair until he tilts his head further back. "I'm jealous, every time you visit him. You come back and I..."

"What?" Ajay asks. "You can't stop me from going. I won't listen. Maybe you could get angry at me, but then I'd just go over more often to piss you off. What are you gonna do about farmer Sajit?"

Sabal goes quiet, playing with strands of Ajay's hair. Ruffling it until it sticks up in all directions. Then, he smiles slowly. "Nothing," he says. "Not to _him_. But you're a different story. Every time you come back, I welcome you home as your husband should. As I know you want me to; why else would you make such a point of seeing the man? You come home, and I remind you of one way I make you happier than our neighbour. And Ajay? I'm _very_ convincing."

"Yeah," Ajay breathes. "You know that's mostly why I go visit him, right? Because I know what you'll do to me when I get back. I bet half the time we...wouldn't even make it to the bedroom."

"I've had you up against the door more times than I can count."

" _Fuck_ , yes."

"I make sure you never forget who you belong to," Sabal says. His hands are gentle in Ajay's hair; his tone is anything but. "When I leave for the mountains, I go with your marks all over me. Your teeth, your nails. I leave you eagerly awaiting my return."

"And you miss me _bad_ ," Ajay tells him. He shifts, spreading his legs slightly. Watches Sabal's eyes flicker up to catch the movement. "I'm not letting my man go off without making sure I'm all he's thinking about. The nights before you leave, I... I remind _you_ who you married. Nobody's going anywhere until you've fucked me so hard all I can say is your name, and the only thing you see is _me_."

Sabal goes still for a moment. And then he says, low and soft, "That's already true. And I've prayed to Kyra to help me, to _do_ something, _anything..._ but my pleas fall on deaf ears.You're ruining me. Ajay?"

"Here." He sits up. A little too fast; the room spins slightly, then settles, and when he turns, Sabal is inches away.

“You’re a miracle,” Sabal tells him. He reaches out, cupping Ajay’s cheek in a steadying hand. Still as a statue. Like stone, and he keeps Ajay anchored to him with the brush of his fingers. “You changed… _everything_. There you were in Paul’s compound, no idea who I was, or why I’d help you- but you trusted me. And you survived. Gods, it’s no wonder that avalanche couldn’t kill you; you’re as much a force of nature as it was. If you only knew what you’ve done to me.”

“You too,” Ajay says. He tilts his head, kissing his way up Sabal’s palm. Nuzzling at the creases in his skin, the rough pads of his fingers. “I never thought I’d end up staying here. Just figured I’d do what Mom wanted and then leave again, if I was still alive. You kind of screwed that up for me. Jerk.”

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m not,” Sabal agrees. He rubs a thumb over Ajay’s lips; when Ajay looks up, his eyes are wide. Pupils expanding to the point where the green is hardly visible. “But I have a feeling you’re not either. You could have run; you didn’t. Even after you rid us of Pagan, you stayed with me. You could have taken the _country_.”

“I never wanted it.”

“Too damn bad, “ Sabal says. He smiles; drops his fingers to Ajay’s chin and tugs until Ajay leans forward, close enough that Sabal can press their lips together for a second. It’s a modest kiss, warm and dry and over before it’s barely begun. It shakes Ajay to his core.

“You’re stuck with Kyrat,” Sabal tells him softy. His breath is a whisper against Ajay’s mouth. “You can’t have me without my country; I know you understand that. This land is my blood, my soul. I can’t leave it.”

“I know,” Ajay says. He does. He’s known from the start; Sabal was never going to come back to the States with him. It’s not something he’s ever regretted. “Both or neither, right? I get that. I’m okay with it. I want to stay and help you make things better.”

“I’m not sure I could do it without you.”

“Probably not,” Ajay agrees, and is rewarded with a quiet laugh, another brief kiss that makes his insides lurch. This time Sabal lingers, tracing the shape of Ajay’s lower lip, swallowing his gasp. He pulls away a few inches and Ajay has to keep himself from following.

“You changed your name,” Sabal says, and Ajay blinks at him, uncomprehending. Thrown by the change in topics.

“Uh…yeah? But that was ages ago. Nobody could say it right, so.” He thinks for a moment and adds, “You do, though. I like the way you say it. Why? You think I should change back?”

“Not if you’re happy with it.” Sabal leans back against the pillows, sliding a little further down the bed. He pulls Ajay into place, arranging him the way he wants him; in Sabal’s lap, head resting on his shoulder. Ajay tilts his head up to mouth at the underside of Sabal’s jaw and the rumble of his laughter. “That feels strange.”

“Good strange?”

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

“Mhm.”

“It’s very appropriate,” Sabal says. He tilts his head, giving Ajay access to the soft skin under his ear. For a moment, his eyes flutter closed. “Your name, what you made it into, even if your reasons for doing so are not something I understand. _Gale;_ the storm, the winds of change. That’s what you brought us. What you brought me. I can’t begin to imagine what I’d do if you weren’t around anymore.”

The words ring familiar, and Ajay finds himself hit with a wave of déjà vu. “You’re said that before.” He fights for the memory. “Sometime. I swear I’ve heard you say something like that.”

Sabal sighs. “I was wondering if you remembered or not. You were pretty out of it at the time.”

“When-“

“After you escaped Durgesh.” Sabal kisses Ajay’s forehead. The heat of his breath brings with it a rush of recollection.

_You were so hot I was scared you’d burn me._

“I remember some,” Ajay says with wonder. “I forgot most of it afterwards but-“

“Understandable. You passed out in my arms, brother, it gave me the fright of my life. For a moment I thought I’d lost you all over again. But you were alright. And then the next morning you didn’t seem to remember much, and I didn’t want to push.”

“Yeah, and then you went all weird on me.”

“I…scared myself a little,” Sabal admits. “We got word early on that you’d been taken to Durgesh. Just rumour, you understand. Nothing concrete. And Amita was urging caution, insisting that we should wait until we could confirm it or not- but I knew. I guess you could say I felt it.”

Ajay smiles to himself, picturing how _that_ particular conversation must have gone. “You know she was right, yeah? It was only a rumour.”

“I was right too. You _were_ in Durgesh.”

“Oh yeah.” The memory brings with it a shiver, an echo of ice and imprisonment. No escape. He pushes it away; he’s too warm just now for that particular flashback. “But hey, I got out. I made it home safe.”

“You were gone a long time,” Sabal says. His arms tighten around Ajay’s middle. “Lost in the mountains for most of it. And I couldn’t sleep for wondering where you were, if you were hurt; knowing you must be trying to find your way back, but how could you? You had no equipment, no guide. Alone, you couldn’t possibly survive.”

“And you found me.”

“She gave up on you.”

“Amita?”

“She told me I was wasting resources,” Sabal says. His head falls forward, enough that he can lean his chin on Ajay’s shoulder. When Ajay looks over, he finds the other man’s eyes closed. “Risking lives, taking away soldiers we needed, and all for someone who was probably already dead. She wore me down; every day I had to send a few more home. By the end, I was down to volunteers only. I left the rebellion to fend for itself. I turned my back on duty, on the war, on the debt I owed to the soldiers who died for the cause. For those endless, hopeless days, nothing mattered more than bringing you home.”

He sighs. “On the last day, I told my troops we were hunting for a corpse. And I would have stayed in those mountains for as long as it took to find you, Ajay. Find you, bring you home for a warrior’s funeral with the rest of our lost soldiers. At least then I’d know that your soul was with Kyra.”

“You never said.” Ajay twists, trying to make Sabal look at him. “I didn’t know you were out looking for me, I figured- you should have been in Banapur. Did you seriously just leave Amita in charge?”

“I knew I should have left you,” Sabal says quietly. “Amita said it, every single one of my advisers said it, and I knew. I just didn’t care. Even after we found you, when I should have gone back to repair the damage, I couldn’t. You were so sick. Drugged, hallucinating…screaming in your sleep.” He snorts, a humourless laugh. “Yetis, of all things. Gods know what Yuma did to you.”

“I don’t remember any of that,” Ajay admits.

“You were out of your mind,” Sabal tells him. “But you seemed to calm down a bit when I talked to you, so I stayed. The doctor said all I could do was wait and see if you’d wake. So I did. Prayed out loud, told you stories. I’m not sure I even remember most of what I said. Eventually you went quiet. Few hours later, you woke up.”

 _I don’t remember,_ Ajay thinks. He fights for recollection, but there’s nothing in his head but snow. The memories end on the mountain, alone, his helicopter crashed. They start up again in the homestead, with Sabal at the foot of his bed. “You were there. I don’t- I know I missed a lot of things, and I still don’t know how I found the search party. But it meant a lot to have you there. It was like I saw you and knew I’d be okay.”

Finally, Sabal opens his eyes. He kisses Ajay’s temple. “You scared me, brother. How much you mattered, how much I was willing to sacrifice for you; I wasn’t ready for that.”

“That’s why you went all distant, huh.”

“I thought it might be safer to keep things…business-like, at least until we’d won.”

Ajay shakes his head. “And _I_ kinda thought you’d just been using me. So, you know. That really sucked.”

“I screwed up.” Sabal’s breath is warm on his ear. “At the time, it felt like the right way to handle things; stay distant, stay focused. But it was a shitty thing to do, and I regret it. I’m sorry, Ajay. It won’t happen again. I’m going to try be more honest with you.”

 _I forgive you,_ is on the tip of Ajay’s tongue; he swallows it back. “Tell me again when we’re sober. You _hurt_ me.”

“I know. And I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it. I miss the days when you trusted me.”

“I miss the days when you deserved it.” He feels Sabal flinch, but guilt alone isn’t enough to make him retract the comment. It’s still true. And pretending otherwise won’t do jack for the future.

The silence stretches out, suddenly uncomfortable. _That got heavy,_ Ajay thinks. _I’m not fucking sober enough to handle any of this._ Right on cue, Sabal unlinks his fingers from where they rest on Ajay’s abdomen, pulling away.

“I’m not going to fight you on this, Ajay,” he says; soft, disappointed. “You’re right. You’re also wrong, but I don’t have the energy to explain the reasons for that. Go, if you want, or stay, whatever suits you. I’m done with fighting for tonight. You win.” He straightens up against the pillows, nudging Ajay out of his lap.

Rejected, Ajay hesitates. Half way to getting up- if he can, and he’s not too sure about that- and just leaving.

He’s so tired of running. Tried that; it didn’t work, and he has no reason to believe it’ll be any better the next time he does it. Sooner or later he’s going to find himself with nowhere left to run _to._

Instead, he settles back down onto the covers, knees folded underneath him. Seems the whiskey might be wearing off; the room doesn’t spin this time.

“Here’s an idea,” he says. “How about we agree that nobody’s right, and we really need to talk stuff through. Like, what we want, and what needs to happen before we can be an _us_. What we’re not going to back down on.”

“ _Us._ You make it sound like you’re still open to that happening,” Sabal responds.

“Weren’t we just talking about eloping?”

“A fantasy.”

“Not all of it.” Ajay watches Sabal’s expression, the hurt he’s not bothering to hide. “I…really like you. Probably more than that, by this stage, or I guess I wouldn’t still be around. So, yeah. Take that however you want. I _know_ I want to see if we can make it work, because I have this feeling that if we do, we’d be amazing.” He sees understanding form on Sabal’s face, and smiles. “And I’m not kidding about puppies, they’re non-negotiable.”

“Two of them, you said,” Sabal agrees. He reaches out, brushing his fingers over the back of Ajay’s hand.

“The fluffiest ones we can find. It’s really important. Like, a matter of national importance. I might even let you name one of them, if you ask nicely.”

“They’re not sleeping on the bed.” Sabal tightens his fingers around Ajay’s wrist, drawing him back in. This time, Ajay throws a leg over Sabal’s thighs, straddling his lap. It puts him at a height advantage; he brushes his lips over Sabal’s forehead, for no better reason than because he can.

“Okay,” he says, “But what if it’s really cold outside?”

“If they’re _that_ fluffy, they won’t have problems.”

“You realise this makes you the grumpy Dad, right? And I’m going to be the caring, _humane_ Dad, who doesn’t toss them outside when it’s snowing.”

“You’re going to be a pushover. They’ll exploit you; Kyrati dogs are ruthless like that.”

“Not just the dogs,” Ajay mutters, and then, “Ow. You realise biting me isn’t really helping your case, right?”

“Maybe you’d prefer something different?” Sabal tilts his head, and this time doesn’t bother to start off slow. His tongue slides between Ajay’s lips, stubble catching and scraping against Ajay’s chin. He’s slow about it, lazy; like he knows he’s not going to be pushed off. Ajay wraps a hand around the back of his neck and feels him smile.

 _Let’s just be like this,_ he thinks, a little dizzy. _I don’t know how. Somehow. Let’s keep it all good, make each other laugh, make things better. I don’t want to be your enemy anymore._

He gasps as Sabal catches his tongue, sucking on it briefly. Breathing’s getting harder. He feels dazed, distant, his existence reduced to this one point of contact. His mouth, Sabal’s. How they fit. How well they _work_ , when they can make it work.

And still, it’s not quite perfect. The whiskey is a dulling presence in the back of his mind, lingering where he wants it least. The kisses are nice; better than that, they’re a revelation in saliva and heated skin. But they’re also not doing much for him, aside from being just generally great. He’s past the point of anything other than chasing the feel of Sabal’s mouth. A tentative wriggle of his hips suggests that he’s not the only one with that particular issue. That, and he’s pretty sure that if Sabal still could, he’d be yanking Ajay’s clothes off him right now.

“Hey, uh,” Ajay pulls back far enough to say. The loss of contact leaves him slightly aching. “Do you want to try… I don’t actually know if I can, probably went a bit overboard on the whiskey, uh, but if you want to try anyway, we totally could.” He swallows; it’s nerves, maybe, or the softness in Sabal’s expression that makes him suddenly awkward about this. He has to keep himself from muttering an, _I swear this doesn’t generally happen._ Because _that_ would make it better.

Sabal gives him a wry smile, resting a hand on Ajay’s thigh. He squeezes gently; for some reason, it helps. “No point,” he says. “I’m as far gone as you, and not as young. Though it’s _killing_ me not to be able to give you more than this. I want to. More than I can say.”

“Yeah. Same here.”

“Next time,” Sabal says, bringing his mouth to Ajay’s throat, sealing the promise. “If you’re still interested.”

“Great,” Ajay mutters. He’s…a weird combination of relieved and disappointed, even though he _knows_ without a shred of doubt that they already have enough problems they’re failing to deal with. Throwing drunk sex onto the pile wouldn’t help. They’re better off waiting until things are more stable, or at least until they’ve worked out if they’ll actually still be friends in the morning.

But he’s still disappointed.

Ajay leans forward until he can rest his cheek on Sabal’s shoulder, letting the other man take his weight. Closing his eyes and saying, “We could try it anyway. Maybe the whiskey’ll just wear off.”

“Doubt it.” Sabal strokes his hair. “Especially if you’re falling asleep on me. Feels like it.”

He may have a point. Ajay leans into the crook of Sabal’s neck and breathes him in. “I’m scared there won’t be a next time,” he mumbles. “Maybe we should make the most of now.”

“Mhm.”

“I really want you. I always do. Even when we’re fighting, I can’t…not want to be with you.” He slurs his words more than he means to; now he’s got his eyes closed, the lateness of the hour, the length of the day is catching up with him. He doesn’t object to Sabal gently nudging him off, coaxing him down onto one of the pillows and tossing a blanket over his shoulders. For a moment he’s on his own, and he wonders if Sabal is going to do something stupid. Maybe go sleep on the couch. A moment later, the lights go out. The mattress dips down again next to him.

“I assumed you wouldn’t mind sharing,” Sabal says quietly. He lays a hand on Ajay’s ribs, leaning in close to kiss his forehead. “But I can go if you want the space.”

“No, I’m good.”

“Good.”

The room is oddly silent now they’re no longer talking. Maybe it’s just the novelty, sleeping in an actual, comfortable bed in a proper house. Not a storeroom, not a makeshift tent or overcrowded safe house. The wind is a distant rustle outside; at this time of night, Banapur’s streets are empty.

Ajay shuffles his pillow down, just far enough that he can tuck his head under Sabal’s chin.

“Hey,” he says, pitching his voice instinctively low.

“Can’t sleep, brother?” Sabal laughs, his breath stirring Ajay’s hair. “That’s familiar. Remember that night at Jalendu?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you always so restless?”

“Just bad timing, I guess. If I’m with you, I don’t want to be asleep.”

“You’ll have to learn at some point,” Sabal tells him. “If it turns into a regular thing.”

Ajay closes his eyes. “About that. Tell me more about how we're going to elope and have puppies." It takes him a moment to fully process the way that sounds, and then he starts laughing. “That came out a little weird. We’re going to _adopt_ puppies.”

“Two.”

“Maybe more.”

“Now you’re just being unreasonable.”

“I’m pretty much going to be the most demanding husband ever,” Ajay agrees. He yawns. “When I’m more awake.”

He’s drifting; he can feel it happen, the outlines of his thoughts going soft and blurry. However strange the bed, the house, the company might be, he feels safe enough to sleep here. That’s pretty cool.

He thinks back to their little fantasy life from earlier. Smugglers in a homestead down south, ignoring the world, untouched by Kyrat’s suffering. Where the worst they’d ever have to worry about would be smuggling runs across the border. And there’d be no Royal Army to bother them, or people demanding Sabal’s attention all the time, trying to get him to solve all their problems for them. It’d be peaceful. Quiet. A welcome change of pace to the usual.

“Hey, so, just a question,” Ajay mumbles. Sabal hums a response. “I was thinking. Remember when you told me how you couldn’t kill anything when you were a kid? Like…chickens?”

“Mhm.”

“Did you ever get over that? ‘Cause you never said you did.”

“You’ve seen me kill. You saw me do it the first day we met…back when I still thought I’d be babysitting you. My mistake.”

“Yeah, but animals are different to people,” Ajay says. He nuzzles at the hollow of Sabal’s throat, scraping his teeth on the edge of the other man’s collarbone. “They can’t fight back. I’ve never seen you hunt, which is weird because pretty much everyone in Banapur joins in if they can. And you have really good aim. I mean, there was that goat at Jalendu, but you weren’t actually killing it.”

Sabal shrugs slowly. “Goats are creatures of Yalung. They don’t count.”

“I knew it,” Ajay says. “You still can’t. If you could you’d just tell me, but you’re…avoiding the topic.

“Are we really going to talk about this now?”

“We don’t have to,” Ajay says. “I just think it’s funny. All these people you’re tossing into Shanath Arena, but you’re going to need me to kill chickens for dinner. That’s kind of hilarious.”

“Go to sleep, Ajay,” Sabal tells him firmly. “We can sort out the chickens in the morning. Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Goodnight,” Sabal says, and maybe Ajay responds. He’s not really sure. It doesn’t matter.

For the first time in too long, he’s warm on the inside.

When Ajay wakes, his head pounds like there’s an army assaulting its inner walls; hurts too much to open his eyes more than a sliver, so he keeps them closed. It takes him several seconds to work out that what woke him was movement. Blankets being shed, someone trying to leave the bed without disturbing him too much. A few seconds later he hears a muffled curse from over in the vicinity of the doorway.

Ajay smiles to himself. He dozes off; time passes in seconds, or maybe minutes, until a knee in the small of his back puts an end to it.

“Ow,” he mumbles. “Hurts.”

“Sorry. Go back to sleep, it’s still early.”

“Mhm.” Ajay catches a whiff of incense and wood smoke as Sabal slides back under the covers behind him. “Were you praying?”

“Set times. Dawn and dusk,” Sabal tells him. “Not that I want to discourage your religious education, but can we _please_ save the questions for another day. I’m feeling a little fragile right now.”

“Yeah. Same.”

“And we have a meeting in a few hours.”

“Kill me.”

Sabal doesn’t laugh; chances are he doesn’t want to risk it. But he moves close enough to wrap an arm around Ajay’s waist, the buttons on his shirt digging into Ajay’s back. He presses a kiss to the nape of Ajay’s neck. On any other day, that would actually be appreciated.

Ajay drifts into the warmth of him. It’d be better without clothes, but he’s not about to suggest they strip to improve the cuddling. Movement in general is a bad idea just now. Same goes for speaking, or anything that involves exposing his eyes to the dawn light starting to filter through the shutters. Death is looking pretty appealing. Sabal would make it quick; he owes Ajay that much. The issue is communicating that request to him without actually vocalising it. Assuming he’s even up to the task.

So there are set prayer times. That’s interesting. He didn’t know about that, and now he has to wonder just how inflexible it is. Seems a bit impractical for a war. What if people are busy? He knows for a fact that Sabal’s missed more than one dawn session. And slept right through dusk during their road trip to Chal Jama Monastery, the day after he was made regent. Clearly there’s some leeway here.

That, or Sabal considers the timings negotiable where they apply to him. He might. He’s not actually as devout as he lets people think. How many people know? Maybe it’s just Ajay.

He doesn’t feel that much better when he wakes for the third time, but the sun is spreading a steady shutter-pattern up the bedspread, and sooner or later it’s going to hit eye level. There’s just no point. Ajay extricates himself from Sabal’s hold and drags himself off to make tea.

Sabal finds him in the kitchen twenty minutes later, waiting for the water to boil. He’s louder on his feet than usual; not that he’s ever all that quiet, but his movements lack their usual grace, the usual sense of command. Untied, his hair is all over the place.

“Wow,” Ajay states. “You look terrible. I didn’t think that was something that could happen.”

“Good morning to you too.”

“ _And_ you sound terrible. Sit down, tea’s almost ready. But, uh, if you want food you’re going to have to get that yourself. And maybe warn me so I can…leave.”

He takes a fair amount of guilty pleasure in watching Sabal collapse into a chair at the worn wooden table. Nice to know he’s not the only one suffering. It won’t make the day’s meetings go any easier, but maybe Sabal will have mercy and let them have breaks. Or at least not shout at anyone.

“You know, this is the first time I’ve seen you with a hangover. Which is funny, because after all the victory parties I’m pretty sure I’ve seen everyone else,” Ajay says, digging around in the various cupboards for mugs. “Does Kyra not approve of drinking?”

“Kyra doesn’t have much to say on the matter.” Sabal lets his head fall forward, massaging his temples.

“So it’s just a _you_ thing?”

“It’s a _setting a good example_ thing,” Sabal tells him. “You must have noticed the problems we’re having with alcohol abuse. Not exactly news, but there wasn’t much I could do during the war, other than enforce sobriety while my soldiers were on duty. Now…” he winces, trailing off.

“Too early for lectures, huh?” Ajay says, almost sympathetically. “I feel you. Here.” He hands over a mug of tea, settling down opposite Sabal at the table. His head pounds; he’s not too sure he’ll actually survive an encounter with the outside world. Once upon a time he’d have just gone back to bed, crashed for the rest of the day and ignored everything until he felt ready to deal. These days, it’s not an option. Kyrat won’t wait for him to decide he wants to act like an adult.

“I almost didn’t think you’d still be here,” Sabal says out of nowhere. He stares down into his mug; doesn’t make any move to drink from it. “Part of me expected you to be gone come morning. I’m glad that wasn’t the case.”

“Yeah, well. It’s a long walk back to Banhi’s place.”

“So it is.”

Ajay gnaws his lip for a bit, alternating with sips of tea he doesn’t want, but drinks in the hopes that it’ll make him feel better. He’s nervous again. It was so much easier when the alcohol smoothed out both their edges, softened them up to each other. He already misses the Sabal from last night. The kisses were nice, sure; better still was feeling like they were on the same side for once.

Any other time he’d try be a little more subtle, but for the moment...

“Are we still friends?” Ajay winces at the demanding tone of his own voice, and the startled look Sabal gives him. “I mean, are we going right back to fighting, or does the peace treaty carry on? Because the north kind of sucked and I don’t really want to go spend another month up there without you.”

“We’re still friends as far as I’m concerned, brother,” Sabal tells him. “More, if you want. Or not. Either way, _I_ want you at my back.” He finally sips his tea, closing his eyes as he does. His hair falls over his forehead, ignoring his attempts to push it out of the way.

It might be the most human Ajay’s ever seen him look.

“I’m not…really sure what I want,” he says honestly. “I know I’m not as driven as you are. You have all these plans, but I tend to just go with things. Make it all up as I go along.”

“Yes, I noticed,” Sabal says. “Your mission reports were a nightmare to read.”

“When did I ever write mission reports?”

“I had them pieced together from what other soldiers observed. Like I said; a nightmare.”

“You never said anything.” Ajay finishes his tea and pushes the mug aside. He feels marginally better. At least enough that he might be able to handle a meeting without disgracing himself. “But like I said, I don’t…really know what I’m doing. Or where I want to go. I _do_ know you owe me a date,” and he makes himself look up when he says it, to catch the mixture of surprise and pleasure that crosses Sabal’s face. “If you’re still interested.”

“We could put work talk on hold,” Sabal offers. “I’ll admit, I’m not used to being anything other than a soldier. A leader. But some of the things you said back at Utkarsh…they stuck with me. You told me you wanted trust.”

“It’s not a lot to ask.”

“No. And you’ve earnt it. I can give you trust, brother; the rest is a bit harder.”

Ajay runs a hand through his hair, wincing as his neck muscles give a twinge of protest. “How come?”

Sabal doesn’t answer immediately. “It’s funny,” he says after a few seconds. “You wouldn’t believe the number of times I’ve had to sit through well-intentioned _warnings_ about you. Your goals, the threat you pose. There are people who think that what you want is a regent wrapped around your little finger; the irony is, you’d cut the _regent_ part out completely if you could, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Ajay says immediately. “Honestly? Yeah, I would. I’m not _here_ because I want…power, or whatever. I kinda hate what the regent thing is doing to you. But you know that. And anyone else can just go fuck themselves, I don’t care. I’m not using you. I’m here because that’s where you are, and you need me.”

“While _you_ need me to be something more than what I’m used to. More than regent, or soldier.”

“You can’t carry the war everywhere,” Ajay says carefully. He digs his fingers into his temples, trying to think through his headache. “I’m not saying you have to pretend it doesn’t exist. But it wouldn’t kill you to put all that aside sometimes, you know?”

“I know,” Sabal says. “I’m telling you it won’t be easy; I’m…asking you to be patient with me. Which you’re already doing, and I appreciate that. I’m making changes. Slow and painful, but it’s happening. Stay with me. I need you here to make sure I’m moving in the right direction.”

There’s no deception in his tone. Nothing sly about his expression, the honesty Ajay finds there. He doesn’t quite beg, because Sabal is and will always be too proud for that. But still; he looks at Ajay and asks him to stay, and it’s long seconds before Ajay realises he’s stopped breathing.

“Okay,” he says at last, when he can. “I can do that. No more running off, I promise.”

“Not that I’d be surprised if you did,” Sabal tells him. “I deserved it last time; I probably will again. I’ve put you through a lot, brother.”                                                                                                                                                            

“Guess I just don’t know when to quit.”

“Funny,” Sabal says. He smiles slowly. “As I’m sure Amita told you, I’m very much the same. Never did know when to throw in the towel.”

Ajay smiles back. And he reaches across the table to meet Sabal half way and twine their fingers together.

Maybe it’s too soon to get hopeful. Maybe it’s too late. He has no way of knowing, and at the end of the day all he can do is act on what feels _right_. He’s trusted Sabal from the start. He still believes they can save Kyrat together. Lose the drugs, free the slaves, give shaken, suffering people something to be proud of. They can still fix this.

“I’ve got your back, Ajay,” Sabal tells him, stroking Ajay’s knuckles with his thumb. “And I really do mean that. We’re doing this together.”

It’s a long time before either of them moves again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. First and most important: the absolutely _glorious_ art is by Spacehussy, and can also be [found on tumblr!](http://spacehussy.tumblr.com/post/126491890770/if-you-havent-been-reading-syncretism-by) And now this chapter's done I get to spend the next few days staring at it instead of writing!  
>  2\. I don't have an inappropriate song for this chapter title, but I can promise that next time will be twice as bad to make up for it.  
> 3\. You people are the BEST for comments, thank you so much! I've loved seeing all your reactions; you're a pleasure to write for. Thank you!


	9. Man Down

“-I actually experimented with movie quotes for a while, you know how it is; got to keep up with all the _hip pop culture_ , because once your brand gets stale, boy, you’re yesterday’s news. Oh, you should have seen me. This one time I opened up the night’s revels at Shanath Arena with a microphone and a, ‘ladies and gentlemen, tonight we dine in hell!’ That got quite a laugh. And then we dragged out a couple of rebels in chains, fed them to a tiger, fan-fucking-tastic entertainment, Ajay, I’m so disappointed you missed it.”

“I’m good, thanks,” Ajay says wryly. “More of a movies and beer on the couch kind of guy anyway.”

“Well, yes, _obviously_ you could have had those too, if you wanted to be boring. But think of the alternatives! Drugs, sex, brutal executions! I hope you’re taking notes, this kind of wisdom is worth its weight in gold.”

“I am never listening to any advice you give me, ever.” Ajay taps his fingers idly on the wooden fence he’s sitting on. “We actually found gold, by the way. Turns out your mines aren’t empty. Cool, right?”

Pagan sighs. “And I _suppose_ you’re not going to use your newfound windfall to do the fun thing and build a lovely statue of yourself? You should. You have your mother’s bone structure, my boy, you mustn’t squander it.”

“Nope. No statues. That gold’s going to feed a lot of starving people. People _you_ didn’t care about. “

“My shrink says I might have a few issues with empathy and all that jazz,” Pagan agrees. “We’re working on it, it’s just _fabulous_. I haven’t had anyone beheaded in weeks.”

“Congratulations.”

“I knew you’d be supportive, Ajay, you’re very good at that sort of thing.”

“And you have no idea what sarcasm sounds like,” Ajay mutters, too low for the phone to catch. And louder, “So anyway, we’ve got gold, and we’re selling the heroin like you used to, and it looks like maybe people won’t starve this winter. We have new schools opening. We cut back on the executions. Everything’s _great_.”

“Yes, yes, very convincing,” Pagan says dryly. “I’m sure you’ll have your hyper-religious oppressive dictatorship up and running in no time. I’m actually cheering for you, believe it or not. This is your life, these are your choices, even if I do personally think you’re royally fucking up. Or not _royally_ , as the case may be. Still. It’s your life to ruin, and never let it be said that Uncle Pagan tried to stop you from doing whatever the hell you wanted!”

“You’re _not_ my uncle.”

“Well I’m certainly not your father, and I think we can all thank our lucky stars for _that_.”

“I don’t want your advice.”

“Young people these days. Rude little shits, the lot of you.”

“I swear I’m going to hang up on you,” Ajay says. “I don’t even know why I let you keep calling. It probably counts as treason. I could stop. Pretty sure I could block your number.”

Pagan laughs. “Oh, don’t be grumpy, it doesn’t suit you. Actually, pertinent question: are you getting any yet? My guess is, probably not.”

“Um,” Ajay says blankly. “Any what?”

It hits him a few seconds too late, and by then Pagan’s on a roll.

“If you have to _ask_ , boy, then you’re either chaste as a church mouse, or the sex is so bad you’re repressing it in self-defence. Are you _getting any_. Are you getting laid, screwing around, fucking, playing hide the goddamn sausage-“

“Please stop,” Ajay says. “I get it. You can...stop now.”

“-making the beast with two backs...making _love_ , even, though I’ll have you know it kills me a little on the inside to even say that. Urgh. Disgusting. I’ll have to rinse my mouth out with vodka just to feel normal again. But that’s fine, I’ve made it a policy to always have alcohol within reach when I call you. The way things are going on your end, I need it.” Something glass clinks on Pagan’s end on the line. “There we go. _Much_ better.”

“No, I’m not _getting_ any,” Ajay tells him reluctantly. “And that’s fine. Kyrat is more important than anything else; that’s what Sabal believes, and I get where he’s coming from. We’ll sort ourselves out. Just...when we’re ready.”

“Mm, this is good stuff, I really do wish you could be here to try it. You know, boy, it’s funny to hear you say that. Right fucking hilarious, not that you’d know. It’s the exact opposite of what your mother believed.”

“What?”

“Well, she fucking fled, didn’t she? Ran out on her country and all her _sacred responsibilities_ and all that mumbo jumbo bullshit. _She_ certainly didn’t have any problems putting Kyrat second. And she did it all for love of you.”

Somewhere in the house behind Ajay, pots clatter together, followed by muffled cursing. He glances over his shoulder. Pranav’s on dishes, and doing them with his usual grace. If he drops enough, either Banhi or Ajay will come and help him. And he knows that. Trust Pranav to find a way to game the system.

None of them ask who Ajay’s talking to, on the occasional nights when his phone buzzes and he excuses himself to spend half an hour or so outside. He knows who they think it is. They tease him about it; _don’t you see enough of each other during the day? That’s a terribly long good-night you were saying, do you sing each other to sleep?_

It’s not an outright lie, if he doesn’t say anything. Not really. And the truth would be a lot more awkward to explain.

Ajay stretches carefully on his fence perch, and then brings his attention back to the conversation at hand. “You’re wrong about Mom,” he says. “Not that it matters. But you are.”

“Good gracious, boy, are you actually disagreeing with me? Standing up for yourself in an argument? Fuck me, it’s a miracle, someone sacrifice a child in thanks.”

“She didn’t leave just because of me,” Ajay says. He rolls his eyes, then remembers Pagan can’t see it happening. “Not really. I mean, yeah, that was a big reason, and that’s why she told _you_ she did it, but there were other reasons. She did it for herself too. She was too smart. And she had all these dreams, stuff she was never going to get if she stayed here. So she ran off to America and got us both into school. I don’t know, it’s a little irrelevant. But she was happy back home.”

“Yes, I’d heard she did rather well for herself,” Pagan says. “No more than she deserved, of course.”

“And...then she sent me right back here,” Ajay says. “So in the end, who knows. Maybe she never did put Kyrat second. Just biding her time until I could make a difference. Or something.”

“You’ve completely lost track of the point you were trying to make, haven’t you?”

“Told you I’d suck as king.”

“Yes, I suppose you did. But there’s nothing stopping you from coming to join me over in island paradise is there? If you like pina coladas, and getting caught in the fucking tropical rain that keeps coming down without warning, that is.”

“Actually, I’m developing a thing for raksi these days,” Ajay says.

“Home brew. The stuff of peasants and terrorists and people who can’t afford decent liquor. I’m going to have to start sending you care parcels, boy.”

“I can’t wait to try explain those to Sabal.”

“Why should you have to explain anything? Good god, you’re not even screwing and he’s already got you whipped.”

Another clatter from the house; sounds like something metal hitting the floor. Ajay slides off the fence. Someone needs to go save Pranav from himself, and Banhi’s less patient with that kind of thing. Possibly because she knows he’s doing it on purpose.

“I have to go,” he says. “Sorry. Couple of chores I should be doing.”

“And to think that you could have ruled the country,” Pagan says. “What is it this time, hm? Do the goats need milking? Is someone making you water the flowerbeds? Do your own laundry? How sickening. I’ll have you know, I have never _once_ done laundry in my life, and it’s a fucking godsend. Wouldn’t even know where to start, to be quite honest with you. I expect I’d just throw the old things away and buy replacements. Urgh, laundry. Fuck _that_.”

“It’s dishes, actually.”

“How absolutely thrilling.”

“So I guess I’ll talk to you next time you feel like annoying me,” Ajay says. “I don’t know, you ever think that maybe you need a hobby?”

“My shrink says the exact same thing,” Pagan tells him cheerfully. “Take care of yourself, dear boy. Eat your vegetables, don’t drink the lake water, that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, you too.” Ajay hangs up.

 _Why do I keep doing that,_ he wonders. _He’s not family. We’re not even friends. I could stop answering, and eventually he’d give up_. _That’d be the smart thing to do_.

He’s never really been known for doing the smart thing. That was more Ishwari’s area. And now she’s not around to keep him somewhat sensible, and look where he’s got himself. Neck deep in revolution, supporting a government that’s the very opposite of democratic. Taking calls from the deposed king who _caused_ most of the problems they’re trying to fix, and why?

He doesn’t know. And if he does, he’d rather not think about it. He doesn't have room for that kind of baggage.

“You ever get the feeling your life is kind of a mess?” he asks a few days later. Behind him, Banhi snaps her scissors threateningly, and Ajay stops twisting in his seat. “Right, _hold still_. Sorry.”

“It’s for your own good, yar, if we leave it too much longer people might start reporting yeti sightings. The guards might accidentally shoot you. There’s a lot of superstition going around; comes from a shortage of education, people actually believe in that nonsense.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll try not to cut it too crooked,” she says. “No promises though.”

“Better than anything I could do.”

“Agreed.”

She’s careful with her scissors, slow to cut and quick to make sure he knows where they are at all times. It’s funny; once upon a time he wouldn’t even have noticed. Now he finds himself grateful for the consideration. He’s been putting this off for a while now, and avoiding the reasons why.

“Sorry,” she says, clipping away somewhere behind his left ear. “You were having some kind of existential crisis and I interrupted you. Care to try again? You got as far as your life being a mess, I think.”

“I...didn’t actually think you were listening,” Ajay says, and Banhi laughs at him.

“It’s a pretty common complaint these days. All these changes. Good, bad, doesn’t matter, everything’s a mess. We’ll settle down eventually.”

“You don’t sound too worried.”

She pulls the scissors away to shrug. “Could be worse. The executions are almost stopped, that’s nice. I’ve seen a whole lot of northerners wandering around this past week; some with petitions, some just want to see if it’s true, all the things we’ve been telling them. No Royal Army, no checkpoints, it’s unreal to them. They can’t believe we’re functioning without the men in red.”

“Yeah,” Ajay says. “Sabal mentioned Chal Jama Monastery’s been really crowded recently. Northern pilgrims. Starting to believe we might not all be crazy terrorists.”

“Or at least curious enough to see if our living goddess is real.”

“Yeah.”

“They’re so weird, northerners,” Banhi says. She moves to the back of his skull, clipping as she speaks. “All repressed, yar, it’s a little creepy. They all travel in groups.”

“That just seems like common sense.”

“Oh, sure. But they’re always on the lookout for someone to tell them what to do. I had one man coming to ask me who the district commander was; he wanted to know if his group needed to report in, get any documents signed to authorise their travelling. So I said to him, ‘why would you need to do that? It’s a free country, go wherever you want.’ He looked at me like I was speaking a whole different language. I’m surprised he even made it over the bridge without having a heart attack. Weird.”

“They were a lot closer to Pagan,” Ajay says. “Closer to the royal palace. And they’ve been cut off for a long time now.”

“I know, I was there when the borders closed.” Banhi ruffles his hair; loose strands fall all over his face. Ajay sneezes. “Oops.”

“Do I even want to know how much you’re cutting off?”

“Enough to make you look respectable,” Banhi tells him. “In your position, you should. And you live in my household, I won’t have people saying I’m not looking after you. _Someone_ has to.” The last part is irritable, and Ajay doesn’t need to look up to see the pointed glare she’s throwing in the general direction of Banapur.

He plays along. “You saying I need to settle down? Find someone to look after me? That’s a job and a half.”

“I’m not trying to get rid of you, Ajay, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Just trying to help.”

“I know that too.” He tilts his head obediently, and Banhi gets to work on the hair above his right ear. “Thank you. I really appreciate you guys being there for me, it’s...good. I’m not sure how well I’d deal on my own. Probably not at all.”

“No need for thanks,” she tells him. “Family don’t thank family. Which is what you are now, seeing as you’re staying for good. You are, right? Achal said you were.”

He did say that. Told Achal a couple of nights ago, when they met in the dark at the fence perimeter. Stopped for a few minutes of talking; reminding each other of what was real, and what was the nightmares. By now he should know that there aren’t any secrets kept in this household. It’s good, in a way. Means he doesn’t have to keep repeating himself.

“I am staying,” he agrees. “I mean, I’ve been here long enough, and I don’t have anything to go back to. I’ll keep my passport until it expires; don’t think I’m gonna need it though.”

“Mhm.” Banhi moves to stand in front of him, blocking his view of the homestead’s garden, the goats in their pen. He closes his eyes as she starts on his fringe. “Almost done, don’t move.”

“Wouldn’t dare.”

“Too right.” She chuckles. Her hands are steady, mindful of how close she’s getting to his eyes. “I think I’m going to double your Hindi lessons,” she adds in a conversational tone. “Twice a week. You have time for that? If not, you’re just going to have to _make_ time. It’s important that you’re at least familiar with it; English wasn’t compulsory in schools until just recently, and a lot of older Kyratis don’t speak it so well, if at all. You need to be able to communicate.”

“ _Accha_ ,” Ajay says wryly. “Can’t wait.” He’s not being entirely sarcastic. Banhi’s lessons are slow going; she makes a terrible teacher, and he’s a worse student. Too twitchy, too impatient, too inclined to get frustrated. But he _will_ learn, eventually. It’s a matter of survival, for one thing, and he’s sick of being left out in meetings with elders.

It’d be nice to speak to Sabal in _his_ first language, for once. Or at the very least understand him. He’s never complained about always having to use English when they talk, just like he never complains about having to translate on Ajay’s behalf; maybe he doesn’t see it as an imposition at all. The Golden Path’s language of choice was English. Most of the younger generation speaks it. But still. Still.

He wants them to be equal. No secrets, no barriers; he wants _trust_. He wants to show Sabal that he’s willing to put the work in, because he is. He’s in this for the long haul.

 _Maybe Bhadra would teach me_ , he thinks. _Might be a little more patient than the alternative_. He screws his nose up as Banhi lets a shower of hairs fall into his face, fighting the sneeze that builds up. It’s a losing battle; he doubles over, and Banhi steps back, scissors held high.

“Come on, you big baby,” she says. “A few more minutes and it’ll be all done. Looking good, if I do say so myself. I should start a business.”

“You’d get bored and start stabbing people when they annoyed you,” Ajay says.

“True.”

They pass a few minutes in relative silence. Ajay keeps his eyes closed, breathes in deep. It’s not too bad. A lot easier when it’s someone he trusts, who doesn’t want to linger over this any more than he does. Though he’d have happily skipped the experience entirely; Banhi’s the one who dragged him outside, sat him down and lifted a pair of scissors.

_Enough is enough, Ajay. Hold still._

_Do I have to?_

_You can pray if you want. Kyra is a good and merciful goddess, apparently._

_That’s really encouraging, Banhi, thank you._

_Welcome. Now hold still and let’s see if I remember how to use these things._

“Done,” Banhi announces, stepping back. “Now you look like a person.”

“As opposed to what, exactly?” Ajay runs a hand through his shortened hair. It feels good, soft; he’s willing to admit it might have been getting a bit wild. The ground around him is littered with black hairs. There’s no mirror around. But he trusts Banhi’s judgement, and he trusts that she wouldn’t send him out in public looking like an idiot. “Thanks. The priests aren’t even going to recognise me.”

“Oh, you’re seeing them today? I thought that was tomorrow.” Banhi shakes her head. She shoves the scissors into a pocket and reaches out to dust Ajay’s shoulders off. “Don’t go and annoy them, nuh, it’s not worth the trouble. Just keep your mouth shut. Pretend you agree, and then do whatever you want once they’ve left.”

It’s not the first time they’ve talked about this. Pranav is of the opinion that he should try bribery. Bring along some gifts to meetings, that kind of thing. Banhi just shakes her head and tells him flatly that this is one fight he can’t win. He’s an outsider, a walking heretic-bomb, and there’s no way in hell he can convince the Kyra devotees that he’s on their side. _Keep your head down, wait for them to go away,_ she tells him, with the ease of long experience.

Achal won’t discuss the priests at all. The look on his face tells Ajay all he needs to know.

“Wish I could skip it,” he admits. “But Sabal thinks maybe if I show up to enough meetings, they’ll get used to me. He says they’ll have to eventually.”

“I’m sure he knows best,” Banhi says without expression.

“Yeah, well, so is he. That’s kind of the problem.”

“So maybe you should _tell him_ it’s a problem. Communication is important in relationships, you know? Please tell me they teach you this kind of thing back in America.”

Ajay stands. “I’ll try it some other time,” he says. “Was kind of hoping I could make him talk about the heroin, maybe see if we can- yeah, I’m not that hopeful either.”

He sets off for Banapur an hour later, fighting back the constant urge to touch his hair. It’s fine. He checked, it’s decent. Not uneven, not too short. The novelty will wear off in a day or so, and until then he just has to keep fighting the constant urge to _touch_ it.

The trip into town takes longer every day; roads are more crowded now, and they’ve had to up the guard patrols. People walking, travelling tightly packed in rusty cars, calling out for directions. Strangers to the area. The increased Golden Path presence up north, the gifts of food and supplies they’ve been sending out to villages, those things are starting to make an impression in the layers of prejudice and propaganda that scared people off at first. _Terrorist_ doesn’t get thrown around quite as often as it used to. Now, they see a lot more in the way of village representatives coming to petition for help with rebuilding. The unemployed, hoping for work in the Golden Path’s home base. The desperate, coming to beg for food, shelter, or information on missing loved ones.

Ajay hasn’t left Banapur Valley in two weeks; there’s been too much to do. He loves it, though. At last, they’re starting to see signs of progress.

He wades through the crowds and food stalls to get to Sabal’s house. The street vendors seem to increase in number by the day, even with Khilana Bazaar back up and running to the east. Banapur is where the decisions are made, where the guns are most plentiful, so Banapur is where people come. They camp in the hills, fill up the safe houses and any barn space the local farmers have to spare. The Golden Path is dealing with them, barely. They have offices set up. Actual people in charge (they’re government officials, he supposes, and isn’t that a weird way of looking at it), sorting out the actual problems from the plain old curiosity.

They’re practically _organised_. It’ll be a while before the shock of that wears off.

Sabal looks up from his documents as Ajay enters uninvited, as usual. Their eyes meet; he smiles. He’s been doing that a lot these last two weeks. Relaxing visibly when Ajay enters a room, a little tension fading out of his shoulders, and he’s going to have to start being a lot more subtle about it if he doesn’t want the whole of Banapur working out what’s going on.

“Hey,” Ajay says, closing the door gently behind him. “Quiet morning? Where’s Manjeet and Karishma and everyone?”

“Either already at work, or joining the priests for morning prayers,” Sabal tells him. He drops whatever document he’s reading on top of a pile waiting on the table in front of him. “It’s not often we have so many in residence; they’re taking advantage of the occasion.”

“Building up the good karma, huh? Sounds useful.”

“You could _try_ to rein in the sarcasm, brother,” Sabal says dryly.

“I could do that,” Ajay agrees. “But if you actually still gave a damn, _you’d_ be there too. And you’re obviously not, so. What’s all this?” He helps himself to the document on top of the pile. Recognises a name in the middle of the black type face, and skips back to the start. It’s from Shanath Arena, a report on weapons acquisitions. Longinus features prominently; apparently, _he’s_ not having any trouble bringing guns across the border. Or grenades, mines, and a scary amount of ammunition.

“Wow,” Ajay says. “Uh...go Longinus? Be nice if we were having that much success getting food in. How’s he doing it?”

Sabal shrugs. “Same way all smugglers do. Contacts, friends on the other side. I’ve asked him if he can lend a hand with anything that isn’t arms-related, but it looks like that’s his only area of expertise. Not surprising. We’d have more luck if we could get in touch with Darpan’s old contacts; unfortunately, he was never all that forthcoming about that kind of thing. I passed on what names I had, but that information’s outdated.”

“Great.”

“But let’s not start the day on a low note, hm?” Sabal looks up from the documents. The smile is still there; rare for it to linger so long. “I like the haircut.”

“What? Oh, right. Yeah, Banhi said it was getting a little too long, and I..” he trails off as Sabal reaches over to run a hand through his hair.

“It suits you,” he says. “You look good, Ajay. Not that you didn’t before. But this is...better. Different.”

“Good to know.” And then, because he wants to, because he can’t think of any reason why he shouldn’t, Ajay leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of Sabal’s mouth.

He feels rather than hears the other man’s indrawn breath, the surprise he can’t quite hide. They haven’t done this in two weeks. Not since the night he got back to Banapur. Which isn’t to say they’ve been fighting the whole time; things have been quiet, almost peaceful. Fraught with an undercurrent, an _I don’t want to argue with you, I don’t want to hurt you again, not again_. He’s kept his mouth shut on a couple of things he wanted to speak out on. And Sabal...

Sabal is stopping the executions. Not completely, not just yet, but they’ll be finished soon enough, and it’s more than Ajay expected. It’s progress.

He lets his eyes fall closed as Sabal slides a hand around to the back of his head, holding him close, kissing him properly. Feels a thumb rubbing through the shortened hair. And he could get used to that, he thinks. He wraps his arms loosely around Sabal’s waist and lets himself be coaxed into giving a little more, letting his lips part when he’s encouraged to.

“This is nice,” Sabal says when he pulls back. “Special occasion, brother? Something I missed?”

Ajay shrugs. “Just felt like it.”

“You felt like it,” Sabal echoes. He looks almost lost. Dazed. He strokes Ajay’s hair, and Ajay feels his insides give a pleasant lurch.

 _I like it when you have no idea what to say,_ he thinks, amused. _Going to have to try make it a regular thing_.

“Yeah,” he says as casually as he can manage. “Think I’m done for now, though. You want to talk about heroin instead?”

“Not in the slightest,” Sabal says, but he doesn’t try to stop Ajay from pulling away and moving until they have the solid weight of the table between them.

“Can’t have everything you want.” Ajay grins. He runs a hand through his own hair and watches Sabal’s eyes follow the movement. “And we kind of need a meeting about this, you know. The executions are getting sorted, now we have to talk poppies. You’ve been ignoring them.”

“It’s called _delegating_ ,” Sabal tells him. “What, you think I should be out there in the fields? Helping the chemists? We ship the product, our buyers pay us, and that money goes towards fixing up Kyrat. That’s the only part of this sickening business that concerns me.”

“You don’t think that’s a problem?”

“Why do you?”

“Because you seem to think that’s the only thing happening,” Ajay says. “Like all the heroin’s just leaving Kyrat, and you don’t have to deal with any of it. You think all the addicts just went cold turkey overnight?”

“With self-discipline and-”

“You have no idea,” Ajay says dryly. “I’m telling you, it doesn’t work like that. And maybe the people you put in charge aren’t going to be accepting bribes, but you can’t say the same for the people _they_ hire. Or the chemists, or the farmers. They all worked for Pagan before.”

Sabal groans. He pulls a chair over and slumps into it, resting his elbows on the table in front of him. “I assume you’re going somewhere with this,” he says. “Save your breath. I’m not involving myself in the heroin trade any more than I have to, and that isn’t going to change. The poppies are there. I need them; I’ve come to accept that. But they’re not my problem, and as long as they keep the economy going, I wash my hands of them.”

“You’re being stubborn,” Ajay tells him.

“This is a matter of morality.”

“ _No_ , it’s a matter of you not doing something because you don’t want to,” Ajay says. “And because every time you pass a field of poppies, you think it’s some...giant neon sign screaming, _you failed._ Which you didn’t, and we both know that.”

“We’d be in the minority,” Sabal mutters.

“I didn’t realise this country was a democracy. Pretty sure it doesn’t even come close to qualifying.”

Sabal gives a brief laugh. “That almost sounded reproachful, brother. You can’t have _everything_ you want, or didn’t you know that?” He raises his hands in resignation. “Fine. I was wondering when you’d find a new lost cause to champion. Now you’re done with ending the executions and despoiling the living goddess, obviously you’ll be needing something else to change. Though I wish it hadn’t been this.”

“I’m not trying to make changes here,” Ajay says insistently. “I just want you to talk about it. To...realise it’s not forever. Because you say it’s not, but I’m not sure you actually believe it.”

“I don’t, in a way. Can you blame me?”

“Yeah.” Ajay leans forward until Sabal meets his eye. “I have to. You’re the regent, and you can’t shut this out. If we’re actually done with punishing the traitors, if we’re trying to settle the country down into something more normal than a war zone, we have to talk about the heroin. Show people that it’s not forever. Show them you’re in control.” He digs through the documents on the table, resurfacing with a loose-leaf pad of blank paper. Further digging reveals a pencil. That in itself is practically a sign of divine intervention.

“Okay,” he says, titling the page with, _Government Heroin Policy 1.0_ because he can’t come up with anything better, “We can have the official meeting later, and I bet Karishma will rewrite this all and make it ten times better, but whatever. Talk to me. Tell me about how we’re getting rid of the heroin.”

Sabal leans forward, frowning. “We’re not. Not for a long time at least.”

“Can’t be that bad,” Ajay says. “We have gold, it’s getting processed. We’ll have farms back up and running in a couple of years. Sugar cane makes money, I heard? Though I heard that from Pranav, so who the hell knows. And...tea. That’s definitely happening. We’re not really ready for a tourist market just yet, but we’re talking a few years from now. Things are changing. Kyrat in two, three years is going to look a lot different to Kyrat right now.” He glances up, smiles. “Kyrat right now looks different to how it did two, three months ago. And that’s on you.”

For a moment he doesn’t think Sabal will answer. It’s not unexpected; practically normal. Ajay’s not the first to try and force some kind of interest in the country’s largest export, and certainly not the first to fail.

He’s stayed out of it so far. Had better things to fight about, and then he spent a month up north, calming people down and definitely not sulking. When he came back, Sabal found himself a little more willing to talk about the executions. That’s a strange feeling. Because whatever the official government story is, whatever Sabal tells other people about needing more miners for the gold, and taking this as a sign of Kyra’s forgiveness, Ajay knows better.

The executions are stopping because he wants them to. Because he came home after a month of silence, and spent a night in the regent’s bed. The fact that all he did was sleep is irrelevant. By morning, Sabal would have given him...anything.

He’s still not sure what to do about that.

“What do you want from me, Ajay?” Sabal says, and _that’s_ something Ajay can answer, at least.

“Work with me here. Let’s come up with a...plan, some kind of timeline. We can set up goals for cutting back on the opium; we’re going to need to talk to the chemists, the farmers, Karishma and her accountants, but we can do this. And then we get it typed up properly and send it out to all the main villages.” Ajay stares down at his pencil and only barely manages to stop himself from chewing on the end. “I don’t know, it’s just an idea. Something to show people that we mean this.”

“People?” Sabal asks quietly. “Or me? Are you trying to soothe my conscience here, brother?”

“Is it working?”

“Only the gods know that.” But he closes his eyes, expression growing thoughtful, and when he opens them again, Ajay relaxes. He knows that look. It means action.

“Where do we start?” he asks, pencil poised.

“Accountants first,” Sabal says. “I’ll schedule a few days away from Banapur, we can take a trip up north to the brick factory. Talk to the chemists. And then I’ll hold a meeting back here to work out some deadlines. At the very least it’ll give the Amita supporters something to choke on.”

“I thought we killed them all,” Ajay says, making notes.

“I did try,” Sabal tells him. “But my right hand man informed me it might be a bit unethical. He’s full of strange ideas, that one.”

“But you like him anyway?”

“Understatement, brother. It’s a lot more than that.” Sabal stands, ignoring Ajay’s somewhat stunned, “huh?”

“We’re late for meeting the priests,” he says. Offers Ajay a hand up when Ajay doesn’t move immediately. And his smile might be hidden, but the look in his eyes is all repressed laughter. He won that round, and he knows it.

The priests are waiting in the community pucca; a dozen of them at least, mostly local. They come for the northern visitors. Twenty years without Kyra means a lot of people to convert back to their native religion, and not nearly enough time to do it in. Banapur still doesn’t have a proper temple. Despite what some people imply, Ajay doesn’t have much to do with that. Not that it’s stopped the gossip.

Manjeet is in residence, passing the time with a story he ends abruptly as soon as Sabal enters the room. He smiles, waves. Next to him, Rajesh nods to his regent, and ignores Ajay completely.

“We were waiting,” he says without expression. Ajay bites back a retort with less effort than normal; for the moment, he’s in the mood for tolerance.

He reaches up and tugs his collar a little straighter. “Sorry,” he says cheerfully. “We got held up, but I swear it was Sabal’s fault.”

“Kyra will forgive me, I’m sure.”

“Kyra forgives many things,” says one of the priests. Ajay glances over and raises his eyebrows in surprise. Raju, from Chal Jama Monastery. It’s strange to see him away from there; Banapur’s a long way south for a priest to travel.

 _What the hell is he_ \- he starts to wonder, and then finds his question answered for him.

“But some things she cannot overlook,” Raju continues. “You know what I’m referring to, I trust. The situation with the Tarun Matara cannot continue.”

“You told me the purpose of this meeting was to discuss plans for Banapur’s new temple.” Sabal takes his place by the war table, where everyone can see him. “If it’s the Tarun Matara you want to talk about, this is neither the time nor the place.”

“Why not?” It’s a different priest this time, one Ajay’s never met. This one looks to Raju for support, and continues when he gets a nod. “If what Raju tells us is true, we have a crisis on our hands.”

“The Tarun Matara is being desecrated.” Rajesh comes to stand on Sabal’s left, arms folded. Sabal raises his eyebrows at the other man.

“I thought we’d settled this.” His tone is cool, uncompromising. “You’ve told me your concerns, and I’ve said I don’t agree with them. She’s fulfilling her duties. She sees pilgrims, she prays, she observes the appropriate rites. I don’t see what the problem is.”

“Probably the lessons,” Ajay says. “They can’t deal with a girl who can actually _read_. I mean, what happens next? What, are we going to teach her to write her own name? What if she starts having opinions? Scary stuff.”

He knows before he says anything that it’s a mistake; he shouldn't even _be_ at this meeting, and wouldn’t be if not for Sabal’s insistence. Sabal, who thinks that if the priests see enough of him, they’ll accept that’s he’s a permanent fixture. Who thinks they’ll be able to find some kind of balance. A truce.

Sure. That’s going _really_ well.

The look Raju gives him is a good reminder that, holy he might be, but his goddess doesn’t really concern herself with forgiveness. Kyra doesn’t turn the other cheek.

“You’ve ruined her,” the man says quietly. “Our living goddess. She is not what she should be.”

“She’s fine,” Sabal snaps at him. “She does what we ask of her-”

Raju interrupts him. “She _argues_. Worse, she makes demands! Childish things, things she should have no need of! Books, playmates, games; then she asks for government reports and interrogates visitors for news! Why should she want any of that? The Tarun Matara should know already, and if she does not know then it’s because the gods don’t think she needs to. I have told her. She won’t listen. She…demands to be told of any changes being made, as if it was her _right_ to know.”

“It kind of is,” Ajay mutters. Predictably, no one listens.

“You’re exaggerating, surely,” Sabal is saying. “It’s not unheard of for a Tarun Matara to be educated, to an extent. And this one is different from the others; it couldn’t be helped, she grew up in a war zone. She’s seen far more than she should have. She can’t be treated the same as the rest.”

“She could be,” Raju says. “She could be made to see sense, in time. But you won’t allow it.”

“More like _he_ won’t,” Rajesh says, nodding towards Ajay.

Suddenly furious, Ajay rounds on him. “Yeah, because someone has to stop you all from ruining her life! You want to dress her up and make her sit there so people can look at her, all day along, and you want to… _use_ her, so you can tell people what to do and say it’s the _Tarun Matara’s will_. But it’s not. She doesn’t get a say in anything; if you could just erase her personality, you would. She’s not a goddess. She’s a tool.”

He sees Rajesh reach for something at his hip, a knife or maybe a gun, and lunges. Fist clenched; he’s been waiting for an excuse to punch the guy for a long time, and if this is how it’s going to happen, that’s just fucking _fine_ -

Sabal steps between them before things can get nasty.

“Enough,” he says. “This isn’t the place. If I have to send you out, I will, and I’ll make sure you _both_ regret it.” He throws Ajay an irritated look, and Ajay nods stiffly. It’s a small comfort to see Rajesh get the same treatment. They both step back.

 _Next time,_ Ajay thinks. Judging from the look on Rajesh’s face, they’re actually on the same page for once. _You wait, jackass. And stay away from Bhadra._

“You see what’s happening,” Raju, the priest, is watching them. He’s clearly the leader here; the others are just numbers, bodies to back him up. He’s the one who runs the monastery and controls the Tarun Matara, and that puts him in charge. “These arguments. Dissent is what happens when we ignore the teachings of the gods; you know this.”

Sabal gives him a humourless smile. “You talk as if Amita never existed. Forgotten her already?” He waits, but no one answers. “If my people have the occasional difference in opinion, that’s government business. Nothing to do with you, or Kyra for that matter. It happens.”

“It wouldn’t happen without him,” Raju jerks his head in Ajay’s direction. “None of this. The Tarun Matara would remember her duties, remember her _place_. Maybe it’s time to consider that he might be put to better use elsewhere.”

“Like where?” Ajay asks. “A different country? Or just sacrificed on an altar somewhere? You’d love that.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, we don’t practice human sacrifice,” Sabal tells him. He turns back to Raju. “Ajay stays. He’s the son of Mohan Ghale; he’s the one who killed Pagan, Yuma, Noore. He brought us De Pleur and saved the region a lot of suffering. This man is a hero.”

“He’s corrupting the Tarun Matara.”

“He’s changing things for the better.”

“ _Change_ ,” Rajesh says, quietly. He looks at Ajay over Sabal’s shoulder; under his yellow bandana, his eyes are empty. “Since when was that _your_ policy, Sabal? Tradition, faith, culture; that’s the banner you fought under. That’s why I joined you. _Change_ is Amita’s way. How can you possibly be so blind to what’s happening here?”

For the first time, Sabal hesitates. “I…” he begins. Pauses, collects himself. “I didn’t understand the full situation,” he says at last. “How badly Pagan had damaged us. The old ways alone aren’t enough anymore; we have to adapt if we want to get through this. And I _will_ get us through this.”

“What about the Tarun Matara?” asks one of the priests in the background.

Ajay turns to him before Sabal can. “She’s keeping her lessons,” he says flatly. “And her books. She’s getting an education, and you can keep her as your _living_ _goddess_ if you accept that she’s not a doll you can throw around. Because I won’t let you go back to treating her like you used to. That’s not an option here. And if I have to _make_ you stop, then I will- but I don’t think you want me to do that.”

He sees the looks people are giving him. Fear. Disgust. Hatred, even, from the ones who know him well enough to understand that he means it. On Sabal’s other side, Rajesh leans over and spits pointedly on the wooden floorboards.

“Creature of Yalung,” he hisses. “Or maybe Yalung himself, with a young, pretty face. You won’t stop until you’ve ruined everything sacred to us.” He turns to Sabal. “Stop him. Stop him now, while there’s still something to save. He’s _out of control_.”

“Leave,” is Sabal’s only response.

For a moment, Ajay wonders if the man will refuse. If he’ll challenge Sabal’s authority; if things might get messy. For someone who’s been in the war as long as Rajesh, who used to be one of Sabal’s most trusted soldiers…this has to sting. He might not give up that easily.

Rajesh gives an abrupt nod, and turns away. He makes for the door. Ajay releases the breath he was holding.

Sabal raises his voice over the slam of the door. “Now that’s dealt with. Are you prepared to discuss the plans for Banapur’s temple, or am I wasting my time here?” His tone makes it clear he’s not open to debate. And, one by one, the priests fall back into line.

It’s not the last they see of Rajesh, unfortunately. But it wouldn’t be. He’s waiting outside the community pucca with a group of Golden Path soldiers. Scowling, of course. He usually is.

“We’re ready to go and check on the proposed temple site,” he says expressionlessly. His eyes dart to Ajay, and flicker away. “Unless you’ve _changed_ your plans.”

“I haven’t,” Sabal tells him shortly, and leads the way out into Banapur’s crowded streets.

Ajay matches his pace, trying to keep from running into people, or worse; there are new stalls on all sides, vendors that just started popping up when the visitors came. Food, clothes, filtered water. They’re not really helping with congestion. That’s just one more issue they’ll have to deal with soon. The priests are another.

“You ever get the feeling they’re just going to try kill me one of these days?” Ajay asks. He sidesteps a family, two little kids clinging to their mother’s clothes. The woman sees the gun at his hip and inches away. Not a local, then; by now, everyone from the valley knows him by sight at the very least. Most of them won’t hesitate to rope him into random chores, either. They’ve learnt he won’t say no. “The priests. I get the feeling Kyra would like me a lot better dead. Not... Causing problems.”

Sabal gives him a wry look. “They might wish for it. Pray for it, even, if you keep going out of your way to irritate them. But they’re not going to actually try anything, brother.”

“Sure about that?”

“Certain.” The crowds are getting thick; Sabal stops, letting a few of his guards take the lead and clear a path. “These are holy men. Not soldiers. They wouldn’t stain their hands with your blood, just in case it turns out that I was right, and you’re a blessing from the goddess.”

“Is that what you’ve been calling me?” Ajay asks. “A _blessing_?”

“Some days. Others, I call you what you are.” Sabal glances over; smiles. “A miracle.”

“Uh…not really.”

Sabal ignores the objection. “They’ll see it too, eventually. If we’ve re-established peace in this land, it’s because of your guidance. You’re the one showing us how to lay down our weapons. When you first arrived, I thought you’d been sent as a warrior, to cut a path through the invaders and bring us the victories we couldn’t win on our own. Now…I see differently. More clearly, I think. You’re teaching us what peace looks like. Giving us hope. If I live to see a day where I’m not _needed_ as regent, it’ll be because you brought it about, Ajay.”

They’re stopped in the middle of the street, the guards around them waiting, mostly patient. From the corner of his eye, Ajay sees Rajesh shifting from foot to foot. He doesn’t pay it much attention. Can’t make himself look away from Sabal.

The crowds move on around them, making space, people going about their business as usual. So many strangers; half of them probably don’t even know who it is taking up half the street. Sabal in his usual denim jacket and Ajay in green, and neither of them has anything to really identify them as leaders of the Golden Path. Leaders of the country. They’re just a couple of guys having a heart-to-heart in the middle of the road.

The thought is almost enough to make him smile.

“See, now you’re just being dramatic,” he says. “You’d be okay without me. I’m serious. You could still make the peace thing work. Just stop listening to the people who want more killing. Kyrat isn’t going to end up fixed just because I’m around.”

“No, it’s not,” Sabal agrees. “But I might.”

“What-”

He’ll never know what he was going to say. When change comes, it comes fast; falls like lighting, and none of them are ready for the form it takes.

A ripple in the crowds. A man pushing people aside to get closer, pulling a gun from under his shirt and taking aim and-

The gunshots echo across Banapur valley; up on the rooftops, the macaques scatter shrieking, and the birds take flight. Time seems to slow. For the longest, frozen moment, Ajay feels _everything_. White shock and red spatter across his left cheek; the breeze in his hair. The blending colours in the crowd, as people flinch away in slow motion. In the distance, someone is screaming; could be anyone. Could be everyone.

He thinks it might be him.

At his side, Sabal’s knees fold underneath him; he collapses into the dirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't apologise enough for the long wait, I am so sorry. Between getting some wisdom teeth removed and contracting writer's block, it's been far too long since the last update. BUT! Here I am and here is the chapter and the next won't take as long as this did! So, Halloween update, complete with Halloween-appropriate scary ending! 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos; your support is what got me writing again. Thank you.


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